


A Legacy of Flames

by EduardoAranha



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), game of thrones
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Casterly Rock, Conspiracy, Defiance of Duskendale, Dragons, Eggs, F/F, F/M, Game of Thrones References, Gen, King's Landing, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Cersei, POV Jaime Lannister, Robert's Rebellion, Summerhall, Tourney at Harrenhal, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EduardoAranha/pseuds/EduardoAranha
Summary: "When the dragon is hurt, the creatures come to prey on his wounds."What would have happen if Aerys had lost not only his mind during the Defiance of Duskendale... but also his eyes?From this moment onwards, an entire game is played. A Queen with clipped wings that finds a way to be released from her captivity and find again power. A Prince that dreams with prophecies and dragons. A Lord Hand that has moves of his own to play, so he can deliver a crown on the head of his daughter. This tale will cover events from 276 AC to around 283 AC - including the Defiance of Duskendale, the Tournament of Duskendale and Robert's Rebellion.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back. Some of you may know me for my fanfiction Glory for Traitors. Even though I made some plans to write an AU about Renly Baratheon surviving, I want that story to be an epic one, and I don't feel prepared for it at the time. So, instead I will publish this story – a shorter one, I hope –, about what would have happened if Cersei Lannister had married to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. I have planned most of this fanfiction, and I intend to cover the great events happening in Westeros during the years before Robert's Rebellion. Tournament of Harrenhal included.
> 
> I intend to write smaller chapters this time around: it will be easy for me to write, and for you to read.
> 
> I would love your reviews on this first chapter, to check out if there is an audience. Thank you so much.

* * *

**A LEGACY OF FLAMES**

 

**PROLOGUE**

**277 AC**

"I want to tell you a secret, my dear."

The words were almost lost in the din filling the room.

It was not only the music that echoed through the great hall of Lannisport House, but also the sound of over a hundred nobles eating and drinking, retelling the events of the first day of jousting. Even Cersei had retold how Prince Rhaegar had defeated uncle Tygett so bravely during the jousts. Her friend Melara had been afraid to see blood.

"A secret, aunt? How mysterious." She said, very quietly, barely raising her eyes to face Aunt Genna. Fortunately, they were some places away from father, far enough not to be heard.

"You have to promise you won't tell anyone. Especially your father." Her eyes glinted in amusement, as if in possession of all the secrets in the world.

Cersei Lannister nudged her head forward, getting closer to her aunt.

"You don't need my word, aunt. I would never betray you. But perhaps you should lower your voice." Her eyes darted around them.

It was a great feast, not so grand as the one expected for the end of the tourney. The laughter hovered in the air, the ladies whispered with their eyes set on the prince, and they all seemed to revel in the happy, warm days ahead of them, even though summer was fading away.

The Tournament in honor of Prince Viserys' birth was all she had ever wanted. The first day of the tournament had just ended, and a feast had been waiting for them inside doors, as well as music and wine. Guests from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms had come, following King Aerys and his heir to celebrate the royal birth in the West. Her father himself was at the head of the table, as the host of such an event. He was smiling to whatever the king was saying. Not actually smiling.

_Faking it._

"Actually, I  _should_ save it to myself, but I'm finding it hard keeping my lips sealed every time I look at you." Aunt Genna said, amused. "I have noticed how you blush whenever the Prince looks at you."

 _Me and all the other women_ , Cersei thought to herself. Even Aunt Genna looked at the Targaryen Prince with lust.

Her eyes returned to Rhaegar Targaryen, briefly. He was beautiful, with deep purple eyes and silver-blond hair, like the old tales Septa Sarnella had read to her about the Targaryen kings. She had even noticed the prince's fingers, so long and elegant, caressing the strings of a harp in the shape of a dragon, as if he were actually touching a woman's body. Whenever he looked at her, she blushed, yes. A weakness. Once, he had even dared to smile, making her smile back like a fool.

But it was inevitable.

"Yes." Cersei replied, blushing again. Immediately, she felt slightly irritated. "I'm afraid I'm not doing my best hiding my feelings."

"Hiding? Seven help me, my dear, must I remind you that you are only eleven years old? Don't be so hard on yourself."

 _I must be hard on myself_ , a voice said in her mind. After all, father had great plans for her future. And to be worthy of them, she had to be a lioness, just like Tywin Lannister.

Even so, she simply smiled, before looking directly into her aunt's eyes.

"So, will you go on teasing me or will you finally spill your secret, aunt?"

After mother's death, aunt Genna had become a mother to her and Jaime. And even to the little creature in the nursery. Although she had married that oaf of House Frey, she was truly the sister of Tywin Lannister. They shared the ame cunning and wit, perhaps in different ways.

"Your father will announce your betrothal to the Prince during the ending feast."

_Two days._

Cersei eyes glinted, and a smile touched her lips.

Inside her chest, her heart raced again.

Could she be truly nervous? Well, yes, she could. An announcement would change everything. Make it official.

_Jaime._

Oh, he wouldn't like it, especially if father were to take her to King's Landing upon his next departure.

But it wouldn't be entirely a surprise.

A part of her had known for a long time that a crown awaited for her in the future. Since she was seven years old, actually. The day father had confided to her that one day she would be queen.

"Are you sure?" She asked, finding it hard not to smile like a fool.

"I heard it from your father, my dear." Genna said, smiling as much as her. She got closer to Cerser, her eyes darting toward the prince. "He is good, yes. He will be a very good husband... And a very good king, I daresay."

_And I will be queen by his side._

"You must prepare yourself for the announcement, of course." Aunt Genna said, placing a hand upon hers. "Your father gave me instructions to gather half a dozen dressmakers. We shall arrange a new dress for you. It's important you look your best, my dear. Maybe a golden dress or..."

Cersei shook her head, pulling her hand immediately.

"Not gold." She said, raising her chin. "Red, aunt. I'm a daughter of Casterly Rock, and I shall wear red."

Genna looked at her for a few seconds, her mouth open. But then she laughed.

"You  _are_ your father's daughter, my dear." Aunt said, patting her hand softly. "Red it will be, then."


	2. Jaime I

**JAIME I**

**276 AC**

The smile faded from his lips.

"I will believe it when I hear the words from father's lips."

Cersei had teased him about it most of her life. Once, when they had played with grandfather's lions together in the bowels of Casterly Rock, she had told him one day she would be the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Later, on the night he had first kissed her on the lips, she had reminded him they would never be able to marry. And even when she had told him she loved him, she had also confessed that their love could never know the light of day.

 _We are one person in two bodies, and I love you with every fiber of my body_ , she had gasped.  _But one day I will marry the Prince_.

It stung, but she had always been right.

They were the children of the Lion of Casterly Rock. Great things would be planned for them, to make sure they would end their lives in better places than the ones they had started. The only consolation had been that there was still time left for them. They would live together for many years, and many things could happen during that time.

Even so, what they wanted to avoid was now upon them.

He had never lived in a world where he couldn't visit her in the middle of the night, just to lay by her side and kiss her forehead. Or smell her hair, that always smelled like exotic spices. Or to simply continue to map the many secrets her body held. He loved her, more than a brother should love his sister.

"It won't be long now." Cersei replied, not even trying to wipe the smile from her lips. The only candle in the room cast dancing shadows around them. "Aunt Genna assured me the announcement will happen during the ending feast."

Jaime shook his head, pulling her away from his embrace.

"I wouldn't be so sure of it."

The echo of the remnants of the feast could still be heard from his small chamber. Even though most of the party had retired, there were still those drinking and celebrating on the grounds outside Lannisport House.

The palace was close to Casterly Rock, but it was not home. According to father, it had started as a warehouse and slowly had been expanded into something more. It was far from being a place built on purpose to receive kings or lords. In fact, during most of their childhood, the twins had never stayed in the house for more than a few hours. That was why it was so strange that Father had decided to hold the Tournament in honor of Prince Viserys' birth there. Almost as if he wanted to keep the royal entourage away from the Rock.

Most of the guests were sleeping in tents around the village. King Aerys, of course, was installed a few chambers down the corridor, with the prince and his servants. That was why it was dangerous for them to meet that night. They were not home, the king was close and emotions sparked in the air.

But she wanted to tell him a secret, and she was always very persuasive.

_And good at sneaking into somebody's else room._

"You are not happy for me, then?" Cersei asked, laughing. He could feel her breath against his face and, for as much as he wanted to kiss her, he did not oblige what his heart asked of him.

"No, I'm not." He replied, looking to her emerald green eyes.

They laid on her bed, their bodies squeezed against each other.

"Oh, Jaime, I have always wonder how you would behave like a jealous man."

"I'm not jealous." A lie even he couldn't believe. All he wanted was to grab a sword from the armory and invade the Prince's room immediately. "You deserve better than that fool. He may have the looks and may be good at jousting, but he won't make you happy. Do you truly think he will be a loyal husband? Half of the ladies here wanted to climb to his bed after the feast. Will you manage to deal with all of that?" He kissed her neck once. "What do you think happens back in King's Landing?" Another kiss. "With all those ladies and brothels…"

That was enough to silence Cersei's laughter.

"I will deal with my husband's loyalty in due time." She replied, patting his chest. Jaime looked again to her eyes. Doubt and fear had taken hold of her.

He may be jealous, but now he had hurt her confidence.

"He will never love you as I do."

"You doubt my talents, Jaime." She said, placing a hand on his chest. "I intend to learn more before I share a bed with the Prince."

Jaime pushed her away, gently.

"Don't get coy with me now, Jaime." Cersei replied, impatient. "You knew this was going to happen sooner or later."

"And I never thought you would want it so much." He replied, angrily, pushing her away again.

Cersei looked at him for a few seconds, considering the meaning of his words.

"We are not Targaryens." She said, after a while.

Jaime nodded and pulled away, leaving his bed.

_The same argument, all over again._

If Cersei was there to play games with him, he had to show her he could also play them.

"I love you, brother." She continued, still in laying on the bed. "You are part of me, as I am part of you. But can you imagine what would Father do if he found out? Or if we walked to him to declare we wanted to marry? He wouldn't be as gentle as Mother. She made sure our bedrooms were distant, but Father would assure he would never see each other again. And what would the world do to us? They would judge us, throw rocks, cast us out as heretics… Do you want that? No, of course, you don't. As much as I love you, we deserve better. We can do better than that, but still, fight for our love."

"You don't know what you are saying."

"I do." Cersei replied, touching again the empty space at her side. "I may be marrying Rhaegar, but my heart is yours. Never doubt that. In fact, I think that's why I want to marry the Prince."

"You want to marry the Prince because you love me?" Jaime laughed, but he was far from being amused now.

"I want to marry him so I can get power, enough power to be even above father… Only that way will we manage to defend our love."

"Defend our love? You are mad, Cersei."

"Mad? We will have to hide our love for as long as we are alive."

"But how will I love you if you are queen, and I'm lord of Casterly Rock? We will be hundreds of miles apart."

"I will find a solution." She said, touching the empty space on the bed again. "I promise. But let us not waste our time, Jaime. Come back to bed."

"No."

That was enough for him. She was sure she would marry the prince. It was as if she had a crown already placed on her head, and he was nothing more than a knight at her command.

"Don't get your hopes high, dear sister."

When Cersei crossed her arms, he knew he wouldn't kiss her again that night.

"If you hadn't been giggling like a fool to the Prince, you would have noticed Father is not pleased." He continued, sourly. "He may be Hand of the King, but something is amiss. Do you even remember what I told you a few nights ago? I was supposed to squire to Prince Rhaegar today, but the king refused it… and father wasn't happy about it."

 _You won't be squiring to the prince, after all,_ father had told him that morning, rather somberly.  _The king insisted Lyle Crakehall should do it._ No explanation had succeeded, but Jaime had known from father's face that the Lord of Casterly Rock felt insulted. His son and heir had been rejected under his own roof as if not worthy of squiring to the prince. To aggravate that, the honor that was supposed to be his had been throw to the son of one of his lords.

"A squire position is not the same as being his daughter-in-law." Cersei had a quick reply for everything, and it was clear she was on the verge of losing her patience. "If you are trying to get back at me, I advise you to stop, Jaime. Don't make me hurt you. I'm sure my betrothal to the prince has been decided long ago. The king wouldn't dare go back on his word."

"You seem to know the king better than I, then." Jaime smiled, bluntly. "I hope you are right. Yesterday I was also sure I would squire to the Prince, but today I had no knight to squire." He walked to the door of his bedroom. "I'm sure we will be toasting to you in a few days."

Cersei jumped from the bed. Her blonde hair was completely disheveled, but in the weak light that filled the chamber, she was more beautiful than ever. Something broke inside his chest when he looked at her. Her face was distorted by anger, and that dangerous gleam filling her eyes made him shiver.

_I might lose her._

"You don't believe me." She said, aghast.

"I  _do_  believe you." He replied, immediately. He sat on back the bed and tried to hold her again. To salvage whatever rift was opening between them. "But I don't believe the king or our father. We are far too green to play the game they play on their council rooms."

"I'm gonna marry the prince, Jaime." She said, pushing him away. He had hurt her pride. "And I will prove that to you."

"Prove? Cersei, please, don't be-"

"Let me go." She said, escaping his embrace. "Let me go or I swear I will scream."

Jaime jumped back from the bed to let her out.

Barefoot, Cersei left his bedroom without a second look, leaving him alone with a sense of dread.

Every time he had hurt her pride, she had done something to prove him wrong.

What could she do now?

He laid on his bed again and closed his eyes. Every time he closed them, he could see Cersei sneaking into the Prince's room, delivering herself to him, just to prove she was right.


	3. Cersei I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything else, thank you if you have followed or reviewed! A lot of this chapter is, in fact, a part of A Feast for Crows with a few adaptations. Up until this chapter, the fanfiction could be canon: but things will start to diverge from this point onwards. Are you liking this fanfiction so far? What characters would you like to see? Let me know your opinions through reviews! Next, I believe I will share a Tywin POV.

**CERSEI I**

**276 AC**

A few years ago, Septa Sarnella had told her about a wicked witch that lived on the woods close to Lannisport.

"No one knows how old she is, but she is not blessed by the Seven." The septa had confided while brushing her long blonde hair. She could be a woman of the Faith, but she liked to tell stories beyond the ones written in the  _Seven-Pointed Star_. "Her powers come from the old ways of the East. Blood magic, I have heard."

The Septa knew more than what she was supposed to know and, trying to impress Cersei, had shared some tidbits and gossip. It seemed the  _maegi_  had traveled with her husband, a merchant of saffron and pepper when she had been a young and beautiful woman. Rumors told she had enchanted the man, commanding him to take her as his wife. True or not, it would probably never be known. Time had passed for the sorceress, though. Her husband was no more. The woman lived now confined to a tent, somewhere in the woods, practicing all sort of spells.

"As a matter of fact," Melara said. "I know a few things about Maggy the Frog."

"The Frog?" Jeyne Farman asked, her eyes round as coins. "Does she eat frogs?"

"Yes. Frogs and all sort of creatures," Melara replied, with a wicked smile. "I heard the serving girls back at Casterly Rock saying the witch can curse a man, make him fall in love for you, summon demons from the Seven Hells and even foretell the future."

Cersei rolled her eyes, impatient. They were at the small veranda next to the Great Hall. In a few seconds, a ball would take place once the dinner tables were cleared. The Prince was expected to dance, if he decided to put down his harp for a song or two. And Cersei was determined to walk up to him and dare him to dance with her, just so that Jaime could see them. So, there wasn't really much time for discussions or schemes. She had already a plan and the only thing she needed from the girls was for them to follow along.

"Yes, Melara. Thank you for repeating what I just said using other words." Cersei put her off, without a second of hesitation. Sometimes, she even wondered why she kept her as a friend. Melara was a sneaky little bitch, filled with envy. She had noticed how she looked at her dresses and jewels. How she wanted to touch them. "I will visit this Maggy the Frog, so she can tell me who I'm gonna marry. That's all I want."

The night before, she had promised her twin she would bring him proof that the prince would marry her, as father had said. And what better proof could she find? A prophecy would do perfectly. Septa Sarnella would never approve, or even help her leave Lannisport House unnoticed. Telling scary stories was one thing, but be part of them was a very different one. So, she had to turn to these dumb little girls, the only friends she had.

"Cersei, I don't like the sound of it." Jeyne interceded again, shaking her head. She was a pretty little thing, even if she was the fatter of the three. "We should just stay home."

 _Jeyne is always afraid_. Yes, her plump little friend was scared of sneaking out of bed to visit a wood witch. Who could blame her? Even she was afraid of doing it. That was the sole reason why she wanted to bring company.

"You don't need to come, Jeyne." Cersei had a quick and blunt answer for her, as usual. "I can go by myself if none of you want to come."

"I will go with you." Melara blurted, just as Cersei knew she would do. "I also want to know the name of the man I will marry."

 _Of course you do_ , she thought bitterly.

"If the two of you are going… Then I'm going too, I suppose." Jeyne said after a few seconds of silence. The weight of Cersei's glare forced her to make up her mind quickly. "When shall we go?"

A wicked smile spread through Cersei's lips.

"Tomorrow, before dawn breaks, I will knock at your door twice." She had already thought in every detail. "We will leave then."

* * *

The girls wandered for a long while before they found the crone's tent.

After leaving Lannisport House through the kitchen's door, they had walked through the tournament's ground, trying to be as silent as possible. Even so, as soon as they reached the trees, they started running until they were breathless, following all the signals along the way that pointed toward the sorceress' lair. Excitement and fear hung in the air.

By the time they saw it, dawn was breaking. The birds were already singing, hiding in the trees.

"This is slightly disappointing," Melara said, giggling.

The crone's tent was a poor thing, dark, with a tall peaked roof.

"Cersei, we can still go back," Jeyne whispered, tugging the hooded roughspun cloak her friend was wearing. "I don't like this a bit."

"Nonsense," Cersei said, pulling her sleeve away from Jeyne's grip. "We won't go back now."

Proving her courage, she advanced and was the first through the flap, with Melara close behind her. Jeyne came last and tried to hide behind the other two, the way she always did. The inside of the tent was full of smells. Cinnamon and nutmeg. Pepper, red and white and black. Almond milk and onions. Cloves and lemongrass and precious saffron, and stranger spices, rarer still. The only light came from an iron brazier shaped like a basilisk's head, a dim green light that made the walls of the tent look cold and dead and rotten.

And there she was.

Maggy the Frog. A crone, just like they expected. She was still sleeping, sprawled on top of a small bed, snoring lightly. Boldly, Cersei took a step further and kicked the bed without mercy.

"Wake up, we want our futures told."

The sorceress opened her eyes.

"Seven help us!" Jeyne screamed, right behind Cersei.

The old woman's eyes were yellow and crusted all about with something vile. She was short, squat, and warty, with pebbly greenish jowls. Her teeth were gone and her dugs hung down to her knees. You could smell sickness on her if you stood too close, and when she spoke her breath was strange and strong and foul.

Even before Cersei could stop her, Jeyne gave a frightened squeak and fled the tent, plunging headlong back into the dawn.

"Begone," the sorceress told them, in a croaking whisper.

"We came for a foretelling," Cersei insisted, twisting her nose. The smell was horrible. It was enough to run away as Jeyne had done. Even so, she hadn't come so far to budge and flee like a coward.

"Begone," croaked the old woman, a second time.

"We heard that you can see into the morrow," Melara would never miss an opportunity to talk. "We just want to know what men we are going to marry."

"Begone," croaked Maggy, a third time.

Cersei put her hands upon her hips.

_Father wouldn't let anyone talk to him in such a way._

"Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my lord father and have you whipped for insolence."

"Please," whined Melara, not managing to hide the fear in her voice. "Just tell us our futures, then we'll go."

"Some are here who have no futures," Maggy muttered in her terrible deep voice. She pulled her robe about her shoulders and beckoned the girls closer. "Come, if you will not go. Fools. Come, yes. I must taste your blood."

Melara paled, but Cersei was ready. Grabbing the dagger Maggy extended in her direction, she pierced the ball of her thumb with the twisted iron blade. A drop of blood emerged immediately. In the dim green tent, the blood seemed more black than red.

"Melara," Cersei said, passing the blade to her friend.

Maggy's toothless mouth trembled at the sight of blood in Cersei's finger.

"Here," she whispered, "give it here."

When Cersei offered her hand, the old hag sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's. Her mouth was queer, and also cold. Not warm as Jaime's, when he kissed her breasts.

"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."

Cersei sighed and smiled, triumph in her lips.

"When will I wed the prince?" she asked.

"After the sun is pierced by lies," Maggy told, sniggering. "That's when you will wed the prince."

 _After the sun is pierced by lies?_  That didn't mean anything to her. Maybe the crone was losing her mind. But well, it didn't matter. She had confirmed it. She would marry Prince Rhaegar. That was the proof she wanted to hear, after all.

Even so, her blood had paid for two more questions and she wouldn't let them go to waste.

"How many children will I bore to the prince?

"Two." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "You will give birth to a prince and a princess, but no crown will be placed upon their heads. One will die at the hands of the other. Still, you will love the kinslayer, even if you want to despise the child for the crimes committed by their hand."

Cersei's mouth fell, agape in pure shock.

"You are lying."

"There are many paths ahead of you, many stories could be told," Maggy said, smiling with teeth painted red. "But the true journey is clear, and my words mirror only what I see."

"Then, even if this is true, I will stop my children before they turn against each other," Cersei said, her hands shaking. "I will separate them, if necessary."

"You may try, but you will lose that battle, just as you will lose your crown."

Melara moved uncomfortably at her side.

Cersei gulped, clenching her fists. One last question remained.

"You say I will lose my crown... Why? Why will I lose it?"

Maggy touched her face and the biggest smile caressed her lips.

"Oh, love," Maggy spoke. "Love will tear you down when flames rise up in the land and blue roses bloom into war. Tears will drown you and loneliness will fill your heart, as blood will seep the cloak that once was white as snow. And then, the  _vemaynar_  will march from the shadows to point a pale finger at you."

Her thumb was throbbing where she'd cut it, and her blood was dripping on the carpet.  _How could that be?,_  she wanted to ask, but she was done with her questions.

The old woman was not done with her, however.

"But beware, a queen can always escape, and a queen you shall be for a time. An accursed one, but one nonetheless. You will just have to surrender the name you will never dare say to meet the salvation you seek."

Anger flashed across her face.

"You're a liar and a warty frog and a smelly old savage, and I don't believe a word of what you say. Come away, Melara. She is not worth hearing."

"I get three questions too," her friend insisted. And when Cersei tugged upon her arm, she wriggled free and turned back to the crone. "Will I marry Jaime?", she blurted out.

 _Jaime does not even know you are alive_.

"Not Jaime, nor any other man," said Maggy. "Worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."

"The only breath we smell is yours," said Cersei, shivering inside her cloak. There was a jar of some thick potion by her elbow, sitting on a table. She snatched it up and threw it into the old woman's eyes. The crone screamed at them in some queer foreign tongue and cursed them as they fled her tent.

And so, they ran through the woods, escaping the branches of the trees that tried to hold them like gnarled fingers would do. The birds no longer twittered upon the trees. Even the sky seemed darker than it had been when they had first reached the tent. They were frightened, both of them, fleeing back to Lannisport House through a muddy road.

They stopped only when the top of other tents appeared on the horizon, just outside the wood. Tents flapping the lion of the Lannisters. Resting by an oak tree, Cersei allowed herself to sit upon an old and twisted root, just to catch her breath for a few seconds. Melara did the same, approaching her hesitantly.

"Are you alright?", she asked, trembling. Her face was pale as if she was already dead, just like the witch had foretold.

"Yes," Cersei replied back, trying to harden her face. She couldn't show how scared she was. "The witch was lying."

Melara nodded, but she wasn't done talking.

"If we never talk about it, we'll soon forget, and then it will be just a bad dream we had." She said, still breathless.

 _Perhaps she is right,_ Cersei told herself, pressing her lips together as if locking them forever. She wouldn't tell Jaime, she wouldn't prove anything to him now, but she wouldn't also give up on the prince.

A crone's prophecy wouldn't command her destiny or the one of any children she might bore.

"Bad dreams never come true," Melara added, placing a hand on Cersei's shoulder.


	4. Tywin I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following and favorite this story. Are you liking it? Please, let me know. It would be important at this time to gave some feedback from you. It was incredibly satisfactory to write a chapter about Tywin. It was my first time exploring this character, since he was dead in Glory for Traitors. I have studied a lot about the history of Westeros to have a close portrayal of character and the dynamics of his relationship with the king. You will notice here, if you know your westerosi history, that I have planted some seeds for events taking place in a few chapters. And you also find out I'm twisting the story. It won't be as clear as you think.

**TYWIN I**

**276 AC**

After besting a dozen skilled knights, the prince was defeated in the last round.

 _This will do just fine_ , Tywin thought bitterly, watching Ser Arthur Dayne climbing down from his horse to help Rhaegar stand up.

A thousand dragons had been spent recklessly to hold the tournament in honor of Prince Viserys. Casks of the finest gold wine had been brought from the Arbor. Arrangements for tents, food stock and refurbishment of the chambers of Lannisport House had been ordered. The Tournament Grounds had been built, with banners woven by the best weavers of the West. And, of course, the prize of a hundred gold coins had been set to reward the sole champion.

A great event for the little prince's sake.

 _Let's hope this one survive_ s.

When Tywin had left the Red Keep ahead of the royal entourage, the climate of fear and paranoia still reigned in the castle. After losing so many babes soon after childbirth, the king had decided to protect his newborn from any threats posed by his invisible enemies. No one, not even Queen Rhaella, was allowed to be alone with Viserys. Tywin had seen with his own eyes Aerys burning all the gifts that came from all over the realm for the new prince, piled up in the yard.

This had been partly the reason why he, as Hand of the King, had felt obliged to open his coffers and organize such an extravagance: as long people cheered, knights jousted, and ladies gave their favors, the illusion that everything was fine could be maintained. Just as it was supposed to be. Many were already whispering in the streets about Aerys since he had made his penitence. And who could blame them?

Tywin looked cautiously toward Aerys, sited on his wooden throne. Three kingsguard with their golden armors and white cloaks surrounded him. The swords at their hilts were the only blades close to the king. His silver-gold hair, with the crown on top of it, hung down to his waist. He was smiling. No, he was laughing. A rare sight those days, but that revealed how he could still pose as a handsome man.

 _Yes, fine enough_ , Tywin said to himself, exchanging a glance with his brother Kevan. The king was pleased with his son's defeat. A part of him wondered: had Rhaegar done it on purpose, suspecting it would make his father happy? The prince was no fool and he too would have noticed how the people had cheered for him when he had entered the jousting ground.

 _They cheer for the prince almost as loud as they cheer for me_ , Tywin noticed, setting his eyes on Rhaegar as he grabbed Ser Arthur Dayne's arm to raise it up. The crowd praised the Sword of the Morning for his victory, but it was clear their love was for the Prince of Dragonstone. All of them had been favoring him during the last few days. How gracious he was, so very gallant. So unlike his father.

"You were right," Kevan whispered at his side, his eyes also locked on the prince. "The king is glad."

"Let us hope he continues that way," Tywin answered somberly, standing up. The king had already refused Jaime three days ago. It could very well repeat his deed. "We will convene at the feast, then."

"And we will toast, brother. I'm certain of it."

Kevan nodded and stood up to let him pass.

The king was already leaving his chair, returning hastily to the palace to rest for a few hours before the final feast. A drink was on his hand. The cupbearer was doing his work.

"Father." Jaime grabbed him by the arm, coming from behind him. For once, he was not smiling.

"Jaime," Tywin responded, averting his eyes from his son to check again on the king. Aerys was hastening his pace, still surrounded by his three guards. "I sincerely hope you don't have that somber look upon on your face because you didn't squire today. Other opportunities will come for you to groom a knight."

"It's not that, father." Jaime was quick to answer. The boy could be not as smart as his sister, but he was smart enough to notice he was in a hurry to follow the king.

"Then whatever it is, I'm sure it can be saved for later."

"It can't." Jaime continued. "It regards Cersei."

Tywin sighed, impatiently.

"Your sister is just fine." He said, pointing his chin toward the girl. She was seated with her friends, wearing proudly the dress Genna had arranged for her. A red dress, with golden embroidery on the sleeves. Small golden lionesses, she had explained it before the tournament, twirling in the dress.

"She told me you intend to marry her to the prince," Jaime said, gulping after the words left his mouth. He knew he shouldn't have said them. A son should never question his father.

_Genna couldn't keep her mouth shut._

"What of it? It would be a great honor for our House if she were to become the prince's wife." Tywin said, almost in a whisper. The twins had always been close, changing their clothes and even daring to sleep in the same bed for a time.  _There is a bond uniting them we will never understand_ , Joanna had shared him long ago.  _But he loves her, and he will always be a shield to her_. "Neither you, not even her at this point, should even worry about this matter. Much less talk about it out loud. That's how rumors reach the little birds of this realm, and gossip starts."

Anger filled his son's eyes.

"I don't support this decision." He said. "You should have—"

Tywin smirked and placed a hand upon his son.

"Don't fret, son." He said, understanding what the boy was truly fearing. "You won't be left behind. I will find a marriage proposal for you soon enough. A proper wife for the future Lord of Casterly Rock."

Jaime grew pale, but he simply nodded.

"Yes, father."

Sometimes he felt distant from his eldest son, he mused as he resumed his walk back to Lannisport House. The child was proving to be good with a sword. A little slow with books and counts, yes, but those skills could be mastered with time. The bond uniting him to his heir, however, was the one worrying Tywin much of the time. All those days wasted at King's Landing, away from his children, delivering them to the care of septas and his siblings: it could affect their relationship in the future. He would have to consider wisely the upbringing of the twins soon enough.

 _And the dwarf_ , he thought, remembering the creature back in the nursery.

Tyrion could be a joke and a murderer, but it carried his name. It would have been merciful to deliver the boy to the frozen waters that bathed the Rock just after he had been born into this world. But he hadn't summoned up the courage to do it. Sometimes, he regretted himself for it.

 _No time for this now_.

After making sure the king was back on his chambers, he stopped by his room to change his clothes and freshen up. As he changed his garment, he considered the Hand of the King's collar. He hadn't used it since he had left the capital, even though he maintained his duties daily, answering letters and issuing orders to the Small Council back at the keep. He decided not to use the collar that night. It was a question of perception, and lately, Aerys had looked strangely to it, as if wanting to remove it from him.

Not long after, Tywin found himself before the door of the king's chamber. The night was already falling, and a cold winter swept the tournament's ground as people returned to their tents or to the castle. All of them were getting ready for the feast.

"Lord Tywin." Ser Arthur Dayne was placed at the door. The knight of the Kingsguard had a fresh small cut on his brow. Nonetheless, he smiled politely as the Hand approached. Dayne could be the champion of the tournament, but he was still sworn to Aerys and the king surely had made him stood at guard as a prize for his victory.

"Ser Arthur." Tywin greeted him, rolling a ring in his finger. "Can you announce me to the king? I believe His Grace is expecting me."

Aerys made him wait more than ten minutes before letting in him. He had not changed clothes, still wearing the same black garments and the red cloak. A cup filled to the brim balanced precariously on his right hand.

"Tywin." The king said, beckoning him forward. He was sitting on a chair, close to the window, contemplating the grounds outside.

"Your Grace." Tywin greeted, curtly. "I hope you are pleased with the outcome of the Tournament. I was sure His Grace the Prince would be crowned champion today, but I lost that bet to my brother Kevan."

"Defeat will teach him some humility at last," Aerys said, gleaming toward Tywin with half a smile.

 _Teach him some humility at last._ Those were the very same words the king had used a few years ago when news had reached the capital after Joanna had died giving birth to Tyrion. Had Aerys done it on purpose?

"He may be my son," He continued. "But if he intends to rule over this land he was to still to learn a thing or two about humility and there is no better than falling from his horse before a crowd to learn that."

"Indeed, Your Grace." Tywin looked instinctively to the empty chair close to the king, hoping he would invite him to sit down. But Aerys was oblivious to that, as usual.

"But tell me, Tywin. Is there any news from Lord Darklyn? I believe you have received a few ravens from the capital today."

"I'm afraid there is still no word from Duskendale, Your Grace." He said, firmly. "Even so, we can give a few more days to Lord Darklyn. If there is no word by the time we return to King's Landing, we will summon him to court so he can pay his taxes with interest."

So far, the Darklyn matter was nothing but a minor nuisance. The Lord of Duskendale, the pompous Denys Darklyn, firmly believed the city's economy had declined due to its proximity to the capital. He had asked a charter for the city's businesses, to soften the taxes, but such request had been denied to him. Opening such a precedent would only result in other lords presenting similar requests, as Tywin had advised the king. So, it seemed Denys Darklyn was making his little demonstration of power. He was late paying his taxes, but nothing more.

"You are too soft on him." Aerys snapped back, sipping some wine. "If he doesn't pay until the next moon, I will make sure the gold is paid by you."

An idle threat.

"Yes, Your Grace." Tywin obliged to the threat, managing to save for himself the words he wanted to say. There was no reason arguing against it. The king wouldn't remember the threat next morning. "I'm afraid, though, I haven't come here today to bother you with such matters. We can resume our discussions about the realm's affairs after the festivities."

"Ah, yes, the festivities." Aerys sipped again, and the sound of his lips sucking the wine made Tywin shiver. He noticed a few drops of the Arbor spilling into the king's beard. "That's why you are here, just as you promised a few days ago."

Tywin nodded, hardening his face.

"Have you considered the matter?"

"I have." Aerys continued, nodding. He placed his cup on the table and sighed deeply, scratching his ear with the point of a nail. "Your daughter is a beauty, yes. I noticed the girl in her red dress. Firm breasts, but they will bloom in due time. How old did you say she was?"

"She is eleven years old, Your Grace."

He had told him that at least seven times.

"Eleven." He repeated slowly, considering the number in his lips. "My son is what? Nineteen?"

"Seventeen, Your Grace." Tywin corrected him. "A little older than my daughter, but I believe she could marry him in two or three years."

"Has she bled yet?"

Tywin clenched his teeth.

"My sister believes it won't take long before she bleeds for the first time."

"So, she doesn't have her blood yet." Considered Aerys, contemplating again the grounds outside. "It's a pity, really. But you may be lucky. I like the sound of their names together. Rhaegar and Selyse."

" _Cersei_ , Your Grace."

Aerys knew perfectly well what was her name. This was a poor attempt to get under his nerves, once again.

"Cersei, Selyse, Rhaella." Aerys shrugged. "A woman first name never matters, does it? It's her family name I have to consider. A Targaryen Prince married to a Lannister. It would be a great feat for your House, wouldn't it?"

_He is just teasing me._

"You would bestow upon our House the greatest honor there is." He said, humbly.

"I never doubt that. Well, I have also asked my son what he thinks of your girl." Aerys mused again, his hands back on the cup of wine. "He doesn't oppose to the betrothal. You know how the boy is, always playing his pretty little harp or with a nose stuck in a book… I don't think he considered seriously the matter when I asked him. Even so, I think he likes your daughter." Aerys laughed, snorting. "Like father, like son, isn't it? I also had an eye for a Lannister girl, once…"

 _Just bating me_.

"I suppose this is a  _yes_ , then, Your Grace?" Tywin spoke louder than he wanted. Loud was often interpreted as an offense to the king.

Aerys turned his head to him, and a smile touched again his lips. His tunic was stained with wine.

"I will concede to it if you allow me a trip to Casterly Rock."

Tywin shook his head before he could even think otherwise.

"As I have told you, Your Grace, we suffered a leakage in one of our roofs." He tried to excuse himself. He had always considered himself to be a good liar. The Gods knew how much he had practiced with his late father. "The castle isn't suitable for guests."

"I haven't asked to sleep in your fucking bed, have I, Tywin?"

The Hand of the King he could be, but it seemed he remained powerless whenever Joanna's memory emerged.

"We could ride to the Rock in the night and be back in three hours," Aerys said. He had plotted everything in his mind. "But you don't want me there, do you? The simple idea of me visiting Joanna's tomb makes you sick with jealousy."

Those words hurt him because they were true.

"I beg you, Your Grace. Let us not speak of the dead."

Aerys' eyes darted toward Ser Arthur Dayne, still placed by the door.

"What will you do if I refuse, Tywin?" Aerys licked his lips, savoring the remnants of wine. "Would you harm your king under your roof?"

"I would never harm you, Aerys." Enough with the formalities. The man was drunk and lusting again for his dead wife. After all the bloody tournament, the only thing he asked of him was  _yes_. A simple word from his lips, so that he could formalize the bloody betrothal. Was he asking for much? "But I begged you, in honor of our friendship, to never mention Joanna's name again. That was my condition to serve you as Hand."

Aerys raised his glass again and spilled its entire content on the floor.

"I may not be granted the wish of visiting her tomb, Tywin, but you will serve me as Hand until I say otherwise." He told, standing up. He leaned on his chair, barely able to sustain on his feet. "You are a servant of the crown. A mere servant." He gulped, shaking his hand to send him away. "And no servant's daughter is fit to marry a prince of royal blood. So, there you have it. My final answer."

 _Insulted twice under my own roof_.

Tywin's fingernails plunged into the skin of his hand.

"Very well, Your Grace."

Aerys laughed again, a rasping sound that told much about the man he was.

"I will know you for a traitor if you turn your back to me."

"I have dedicated most of the last twenty years to serve you." Tywin retorted, severely. "I have proved myself enough."

"Doing a shitty job," Aerys concluded, hammering his empty cup on the battle. "Get out now, before I drag you back to King's Landing in chains."

"As you wish, Your Grace." He repeated, always holding himself. Losing his head before the king could actually mean losing his head.

"And fetch my servants, Tywin." Aerys barked as if his Hand of the King was nothing more than a cupbearer. "We are done here. We will return to the capital right away. To hell with your fucking feast."

Tywin turned his back to leave the room right away. Ser Arthur Dayne exchanged a long glance with him, condemning as much as him the king's behavior. The altercation between them three days ago, when Aerys had refused Jaime as a squire to Rhaegar, was nothing compared to this. The only fight they had with such a dimension had been when they were kids, and Aerys was still a mere prince whom he could insult without committing treason.

Cersei was waiting for him when he returned his chamber. There she was, sitting by the fireplace, posing in such a delicate way, but at the same time feral as a lioness. Genna was with her, and both of them were giggling when he closed the door.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, removing his cloak.

"Father, Jaime told me you were visiting the king," Cersei said, smiling widely as soon as he approached. "Has the king give you an answer?"

She was not supposed to know, but heartbreak would make her strong.

"There will be no marriage." He said, throwing an accusatory glance toward Genna. "And there will be no feast, too."

Cersei laughed, not believing him.

"Father, you are not one used to jest with serious matters."

"You won't marry the prince," Tywin repeated, rather bluntly. He grabbed a jar of wine and poured himself a glass, not enough to make him dizzy. "Now go, both of you. Go back to your chambers and don't leave them until the morrow. I have letters to write and ravens to send."

Cersei looked at him, still smiling, unable to understand. Panic settle in her emerald eyes when she turned for her aunt to help, and Genna grabbed her hand to take her from the room.

"You are lying," Cersei said again, refusing to leave. "I know I will marry the prince. I will be the queen."

"You won't marry the prince. Not this one." Tywin said, pushing his chair. "Genna, take the girl to bed. And make sure you wipe away her tears. They are yours to blame, for not keeping your mouth shut."


	5. Jaime II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked to write this chapter. It came easily to me, in less than four hours. I'm sorry for the delay updating, but I was planning this fanfiction properly: there is still much planning to do, but the main plot is already established. I'm studying a lot about Westeros and the characters, and as a result, I'm afraid the plot is growing a lot. I have now planned at least 40 chapters. I'm considering all the twists of the past, and twisting them some more, trying to see what would have happened if certain things had occurred. At this point, however, I'm still at the beginning, and this chapter could still be considered canon. I have a question since a few of you didn't approve Tywin POV's chapters: Would you guys be comfortable with Rhaegar POV's? Let me know with a review or PM and continue to follow and favorite! Thank you so much. Enjoy your reading!

 

**JAIME II**

**276 AC**

For a time, everything was back to what it should be.

After the Tournament, they returned to Casterly Rock. The tension in the air had been palpable during those first days. The sudden departure of the king had left Father more bitter than usual, as well as ominous and silent. He had been refused twice, it appeared, and it was more than reasonable he felt offended by his long-term friend. Uncle Kevan was one of the few who managed to keep him company, helping him with pendent issues regarding the governance of the West.

Cersei, meanwhile, had built a wall of ice around herself, just like the Wall in the far North. She had refused to see him in her room and was always close to her silly friends, using them as shields to keep him at bay.  _Her own private Night's Watch_ , he called them. Melara Hetherspoon insisted on going to the door of his sister's chamber whenever he knocked.

"She doesn't want to see you." The girl said to him one of those times, with a freckly smile. "But would you like to have a stroll with me down to the Stone Garden? I love to climb the twisted branches of the weirwood tree."

Oh, she wanted to climb some branches for sure, but not the ones of the weirwood tree. He refused her invitation and turned away. Finally, he managed to sneak in his sister's bedroom during the hour of the wolf, when Cersei was sleeping alone. He even managed to get under the covers of her bed, just to be thrown out coldly as soon as he embraced her.

"You think you have got what you wanted." She told him, her lips quivering. For the first time, she was not even capable of facing him directly in the eyes. Her pride was really hurt, and her dreams crushed. "But you got a big storm coming, brother. Now get out before I scream for septa Sarnella."

 _Women being women_ , he said to himself, returning to his room. He didn't know what it meant, but the men used to say it a lot. He cared for himself that night, alone in his bedroom, thinking of his sister and, for the first time, remembering the freckly smile of the Hetherspoon girl. There was nothing time couldn't mend, as Aunt Genna used to say. So, he decided to give Cersei some time. She would send for him again and they would be sleeping and nesting in each other's arms as if nothing had happened. He was sure of that.

Life at Casterly Rock resumed, then. Aunt Genna seemed distressed than usual, assuring everything was back to normal. She kept giving orders to servants to the point of provoking some whispers down in the kitchens. Uncle Tygett was also there, partaking in some of the meetings in the Lion Tower, or down in a tavern or two. Meanwhile, Father was determined to make most of his time back at home and kept summoning family dinners at least twice a week. It was more than clear from the looks Cersei threw at their Father she blamed him for not securing a marriage with her dear Rhaegar.

_She is just being stupid._

Even so, what could be happening to leave his family under such pressure? Yes, the King had been disrespectful, but Father had maintained his office as Hand. Everything would get back to normal. Why the long faces during dinner? He decided to ignore what he couldn't understand. It was more efficient of him to spend all his energy on what he could actually understand. So, most of his time was passed down on the courtyard, with a sword on his hand, training with Ser Jon Oweyn, the master-at-arms of the Rock. He was training so much that during the afternoon when he climbed the steps to the Raven Tower to get his lessons with Maester Ullun, his eyelids were as heavy as stone.

"One could say you seem happy, lad." Uncle Tygett surprised him one morning, watching his training practice from the battlements above. Jaime was laughing out loud, after being applauded by Ser Oweyn for striking down Jeremiah Lucyn.

"Uncle Tyg." He said, pulling out his helmet to face his uncle. "Why shouldn't I be happy?"

Uncle Tyg smiled a rare sight. Something was hidden in that smile, however. Jaime wanted to ask what he was keeping from him, but the smile vanished as quick as it came.

"You should be, yes." He said, started climbing down the wooden staircase to the courtyard. "I was only thinking out loud, lad."

Tygett Lannister was so much like Tywin but at the same time incredibly different down to his core. He was tall and had the same blonde hair, and even the same serious expression Father had most of the time as if he had tasted something bitter. Aunt Genna had told him once that Uncle Tyg wished to have been the first to be born, making him Lord of Casterly Rock instead of Father. That was his biggest regret as if he could have ever had controlled his fate.

"Your Father wants a word with you." Uncle Tygett said, unsheathing his sword. "However, I was hoping we could make him wait for a little while."

Jaime smiled, exchanging a look with Ser Oweyn. The master-at-arms nodded, grabbing Jeremiah out of the way.

"Father won't have to wait long," Jaime replied, cunningly, raising his sword. "This time, I will be quick and merciful with you, Uncle Tyg."

Without another word, Uncle Tygett threw another smile on his lips and advanced forward. Jaime passed his helmet to Ser Oweyn. And, simple as that, their sword clashed, and the sound of steel sang through the courtyard. He had sparred with Uncle Tygett for the last time two months ago, managing to win in that brief duel. It had been his first win against his uncle. He was sure he could it again and be even quicker this time.

They danced around each other with their swords, making them kiss with a furious rage. Previously, the trick that had granted him the win had been simple: he had managed to pass through his Uncle's defenses, hitting him on the shoulder pad, just hard enough to get him distracted. That had been enough to disarm him.

He was about to try that feint again when it all ended.

Uncle Tygett managed to hit with the point of his sword on Jaime's right hand. A gauntlet was protecting it, but the impact was subtle and yet strong. Strong enough to make him lose the grip around his sword's pommel. The steel clashing on the pavement announced his defeat.

"You were looking for my weakness." Uncle Tygett said, sheathing his sword immediately. "And you let your guard down. If this had been a real fight, you would be a hand short."

Jaime caught his sword and raised it up again.

"I won't let it happen again."

"Put your sword away, lad." Uncle Tyg laughed, shaking his head. "You don't want to be late to your Father."

Jaime bit his lip.

"I won't be late. I will-"

"Enough of this, boy." Ser Oweyn intervened, stepping forward. "You heard your Uncle. If your Father wants to see you, you go to him. Or it will be me who will have to answer for your tardiness."

Uncle Tyg smirked again, before turning his back to return to the castle. Sheathing his word, and feeling his hand starting to ache from where the sword had hit him, Jaime started stripping down his armor while walking back to the armory.

He had time to change for the usual light garments he used during his lessons with Maester Ullun. Tywin Lannister had high expectations for his children and didn't want them to overlook any aspect. That was why he insisted he should look presentable whenever he was to get his lessons, as a lord should behave inside door.

 _Armor should be used only on the training courtyard_ , Father had told him one time.  _Or if we are in war_.  _If that is the case, then you should even sleep with your armor on._

As it happened whenever Father was home, Jaime climbed the steps to the Lion Hall. It was Father's private chamber and it was from there he controlled most of his affairs. Ruling the West and all sort of other matters that occupied the time of the Warden of the West when he was not serving as Hand. It was also there that Father tested his knowledge, making sure he was learning with Maester Ullun. Any flaw he encountered, he would grab a book or two to make sure the knowledge wouldn't fade away again.

"What took you so long?" Tywin asked, as soon as he entered the chamber.

It was a large chamber, on top of the tallest tower of the Rock. It overlooked the entire castle from its main window, as well as Lannisport far ahead. Tapestries with the golden lion and the red color of House Lannister covered most of the walls, except the one with the Carved Map. The furniture was sparse: there was no much more than a few chairs, a table for private dinners or small meetings and a long table where Father usually sat writing. And a bed, of course. Years before, the chamber had been different, somehow more alive and warmer. But that part of it had died with Mother.

"I was training." He excused himself, hiding his bruised hand behind his back.

"You were training with Tygett." Nothing escaped him.

"Yes."

Tywin sniffed, as if not totally pleased with that information.

"And?"

"And what?" Jaime asked.

"Have you defeated him?"

Jaime gulped, and that was enough for Tywin to know the answer.

"Well, he is good with swords. I have to give him that." Father replied, pointing to the empty chair in front of him. "But you are young, and you have already defeated him once. That makes you better than him already."

Jaime took his seat and tried to find some consolation in those harsh words.

"You will leave for the Stormlands in two days."

Tywin uttered those words so soft and unexpectedly that, for a few seconds, Jaime thought his Father was talking to someone else in the room. But they were alone. The roar of the sea crashing against the cliffs down below filled the room while silence reigned for a few instants.

"The Stormlands?" Jaime managed to ask, hesitantly.

"Yes," Tywin replied, sternly, raising his eyes from the letter he was finishing. "Do you know where is Storm's End?"

Jaime frowned his brow, turning his eyes to the map of the Seven Kingdoms carved on the wall. It had been carved on the stone at the request of his great grandfather, after the famous table of Westeros that Aegon the Conqueror had arranged during the conquest. It showed in detail all the castles, cities, rivers and forests throughout the realm. The Wall marked its end at the top, right by the ceiling, while Dorne was carved at feet level.

 _Geography will never be your strength,_ Father used to tell him, whenever he asked him where the seat of the Starks was, or the Manderlys, the Baratheons, the Umbers, and so on.  _A lord has to know the land if he aspires to become more than a lord._

"I'm not a child any longer," Jaime said, stuffing his chest. Without hesitation, he extended his arm and pointed a finger to a small dot. It was placed on the Eastern coast, bathed by the Narrow Sea. "I'm sorry, Father, but why would you want me to go there?"

Tywin seemed slightly appeased, a shadow of a smile caressing his lips.

"I won't answer that question." He replied, returning to his letter. Lately, it seemed he was always writing letters. "But I dare you to find out the answer."

"I don't know what you are trying to say with this charade."

"You do." Tywin insisted, scribbling something at the bottom of a paper. A signature.

"I suppose you are sending me to deal with some business with the Lord of the Stormlands."

"And who is the Lord of the Stormlands?"

"Lord Steffon Baratheon, I believe."

"You believe or are you certain?"

Jaime gulped again.

"Yes, I'm certain."

"Very well." Tywin placed down his quill and grabbed the candle in front of him, spilling some wax on the paper. "So… Why would I send a boy to deal with businesses with a lord, Jaime? Do you believe I'm sending you to deal with some tax issues, perhaps? Or maybe to negotiate better conditions for the commercial trade between our lands?"

He hated when he did that, no matter how much time it passed. Always grooming him to become the future Lord of Casterly Rock. The weight placed on his shoulders was always more than he could sustain, and the fear of failing Father tormented him.

"No," Jaime answered, rather quickly. "I'm your heir, but I don't know much about taxes or commerce."

Maester Ullun had taught him a few things about ruling a land, but his lessons regarded topics mainly related to history, geography, and sums. Only a lord could teach another lord how to be a lord.  _That is the point of these private lessons_ , he thought, while watching Father placing a stamp over the wax, sealing the letter with the crest of House Lannister.

"We are reaching somewhere, then," Tywin said. "If I wanted to deal with such matters, and couldn't attend them myself, I would send someone else. Someone who could represent me without offending a lord paramount. A figure with enough authority to-"

"You would send Uncle Kevan." Jaime interrupted.

 _Maybe I'm getting better at this game_.

Tywin smiled, nodding. That was a good signal.

"You are learning. Yet…" He continued. "You have still not answered the main question, have you? Tell me, son, why I'm sending you to Storm's End of all places?"

Jaime opened his mouth to answer, but no answer came to him. Not for a few seconds. As the silence continued, Tywin's smile started to fade. The fear of disappointing Father started to creep him.

"You know the answer. You just don't want to see it."

As Father spoke those lost words, he sensed some finality in them.

" _No_ ," Jaime said, shaking his head. He knew what Father was about to do. "You wouldn't do that."

Tywin lifted an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Tell me your mind, lad."

"You want me to squire to Lord Steffon."

Tywin nodded, satisfied at last.

"I told you I would find someone so you could squire." He continued, resolute. "You can't remain at Casterly Rock forever. Oweyn told me a year ago he had taught you everything he could, and Maester Ullun says you know enough of the world to face it on your own. It is time, son."

"But I would have to leave Casterly Rock—"

"It would do you good to see the world for a few years."

"No, it doesn't make sense," Jaime replied, shaking his head again. He never had raised his voice to Father. No one would dare to do it. But it was something beyond his control now. "If I'm to become the future Lord of Casterly Rock, I must stay  _here_. The Lannisters must remain at Casterly Rock. Maybe I could squire to Uncle Tyg or-"

Father's face couldn't betray what he was thinking, but when he opened his mouth, he made clear what he thought about it.

" _Enough_!" Tywin yelled, high enough to shut up Jaime. The sound of his yell echoed through the room, and even the crashing of the waves seemed to falter at the sound of the imponent voice of Tywin Lannister. "My father was a fool and grew accustomed to a life of comfort inside these walls. It almost ruined our House. One of the best things he did was send me to King's Landing to serve as a cupbearer to King Aegon. It was there I befriended our current King and Lord Steffon Baratheon… and it was also there I noticed your Mother for the first time. A man becomes a man by leaving his home. Leaving Casterly Rock will teach many lessons, son. You will learn, you will fail, and you will shape yourself into a proper man. Am I clear?"

Tears prickled Jaime's eyes when he nodded. He wanted to run out of the chamber, but he was bounded by invisible chains. His tongue was petrified inside his mouth. His eyes had turned to glass. But his hands were shaking, still begging for action, sensing the fear around him, urging him to catch the silver lining.

"I have reflected a lot about your future and about who could shape you into being the future Warden of the West. Lord Crakehall was one of the names I considered, and it would have done you good to squire to one of our bannermen… But Lord Steffon is also a good friend of mine and someone I can trust." Tywin continued, raising his hand to show him the sealed letter. "He is particularly good with a hammer and has two sons of about your age. Besides, he visits the capital often. As his squire, you will accompany him, and we will be able to meet for a few days. He will take charge of your training for the next few years."

 _Next few years_.

He had been so blinded, reveling in the normality of his days back in Casterly Rock, so sure the world couldn't be threatened. His world. Days that started with training in the courtyard and ended in the arms of Cersei.

 _You think you have got what you wanted,_ Cersei had told him.  _But you got a big storm coming, brother_. Those words made more sense now than ever. Had she known what was about to happen?

"I'm bound to King's Landing in two days. You will accompany me until our road diverts." Father said, ending the matter there. "Your Uncle Tygett will escort you to Storm's End in my stead the remaining of the way. I suppose you should take the time you have left to say your goodbyes."

 


	6. Cersei II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. This chapter ends the first part of this fanfiction, that I see as a very long Prologue. After this one, I will introduce Part II and action will jump to 277 AC and will focus mainly on events taking place at King's Landing and Duskendale. I guess you know what is coming (always with a lot of twists, of course). So, please, let me know if you are enjoying this story through your reviews or PM's: it really fuels my energy to write! Any suggestions are welcome, as always! Ah, and if anyone is interested in beta-reading, let me also know. I struggle with my English every time I write, even though I feel I made some progresses. Thank you.

**CERSEI II**

**276 AC**

The sound of laughter came down the corridor as she approached the nursery.

She was not used to walking that wing of the castle. At least, not after Mother had placed her on chambers on the other side of the Rock, separating her from Jaime's bed. Joanna Lannister had suspected their affection from early on, probably after hearing a rumor or two from a noisy maid. Even so, she had the vague memory of her quarters being here somewhere when she was a little child. Cersei couldn't remember which door precisely. Yet, there was one she would never forget, the very same one now filled with laughter. The memory she had of that room was tainted by other sounds. Screams and crying. It was there Mother had died.

Reaching the door, she peeked him, silently, spying on her siblings.

Jaime was playing with the little monster.

 _He is not alone_.

Tyrion had just celebrated his third name day. He was still of the size of a little baby, even though he had learned how to walk and say a few words. The devilish creature was playing with a dragon-shaped toy, throwing it to Jaime with his little vigorous hands. And they laughed, as Jaime ran after the dwarf, threatening to catch him as if he was a big dragon himself. Cyrilla, the maid tending to the child's need, was chuckling, knitting on a chair by the window.

And there she was too, playing with them as if she was their sister.

 _Melara_.

Septa Sarnella had warned her about the girl just moments ago. Her friend was growing bold as her breasts started filling inside her dresses. They could have the same age, she and Melara, but her friend was prettier in her own way, and her body was developing at a quicker pace than hers. And the girl knew that. Of course she knew.

_I will take care of the problem, my lady._

Luckily, Septa Saranella usual answered her prayers.

Putting her best smile, Cersei pushed the door firmly to announce herself.

The laughter died away instantly as if she wasn't allowed to be part of their games. Tyrion stopped laughing, his mouth wide open and his arms raised in mid-motion. He looked at her, curiosity gleaming in his misshaped face, trying to understand who she was. He could even look like any other child if he hadn't an enormous head and eyes with mismatched colors. A shiver ran through her body.

Jaime caught Tyrion in his arms, and had a final laugh, before delivering him to Cyrilla's arms. Melara, as if caught in the act, had lowered her head and hidden her smirk. Like the coward she was, the stepped back, trying to disappear in the shadows.  _The little rat knows she shouldn't be here,_ Cersei noted to herself, dispensing a brief glance to her friend.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Cersei said, glancing around the small room. The bed where Mother had died in a pool of blood was gone, burnt by Father's orders after Mother was buried in the Hall of Heroes.

"You are certainly not," Jaime said, a nervous smile dancing suddenly on his lips. He pushed the hair hiding his blushing face. "Tyrion, do you know who this is?"

Back on Cyrilla's arms, Tyrion pressed his eyes on Cersei. She hadn't seen the baby for months. It seemed he had grown up considerably since then, and there was mischief in his gleam that wasn't there before.  _Someday he will be the death of us all_ , she thought somberly.

"Cicy," Tyrion mumbled, pointing his dragon toward her.

Melara laughed again, incapable of controlling herself. Jaime smirked also, exchanging an alarming look of complicity with the girl. The way Tyrion had spoken the word sounded like  _sissy_.

 _What a disgusting little creature_.

She sniffed, averting her eyes from the little beast once again. Jaime, on the other hand, was still smiling, as if the dwarf had said the cleverest thing ever.

"Can I have a word with you in private?" She intervened, coldly.

Melara moved uncomfortably from her place in the shadows. Cersei sensed her and knew her friend wanted to speak out loud, probably to tail along. But she wouldn't give her that chance. Throwing a cold smile to the maid and Melara, she stepped out of the room.

"When you please, brother."

Jaime made her wait for almost a minute. He was not the fool he believed himself to be. Despite all the efforts she was making to hide her irritation, he had under covered the feelings she was trying to veil. From the corridor, Cersei heard him saying his goodbyes to Tyrion, promising to return soon enough with another toy or two. Cyrilla the maid thanked him and wished him good travels before her brother finally left the room to face her.

"He may be our brother, but you don't have to visit him or bring toys," Cersei told him as soon he walked out of the room. "Must I remind you that the little beast killed or Mother? Besides, Father still believes he won't survive childhood."

"You are right," Jaime said, closing the door behind him not to be heard. "He  _is_ our brother. I'm just trying to act as an older brother should."

"You almost sound like Uncle Tyg. He is the only one who loves the Imp."

Cersei rolled her eyes and turned his back to him, walking down the corridor.

"Am I supposed to follow you, sister?" He asked, also giving up any effort to hide how miserable he felt.

"I told you I wanted to talk with you privately." She replied, curtly. The corridor may be deserted, but maids could be behind doors doing laundry or cleaning. "This is not private."

Jaime made an annoying sound but followed her without hesitation.

"So, I suppose you heard the news." He said, quickening his pace to accompany her.

"Yes." She replied, climbing down a set of stairs. "I also heard Melara Hetherspoon is trying to climb to your bed before you leave. Is that true?"

Jaime laughed, like an idiotic child.  _He always knows how to get under my nerves_. For the first time in a while, she had no time to think twice. Her body made a decision before letting her consider the consequences. She stopped on her heels and turned back, raising her arm to strike him in the face. He was ready for it, though. He had provoked on purpose to force her to act in such a way. No one could read her better than him. As if she nothing but a nuisance, he grabbed her arm and pushed her against his chest. The stair was narrow, but they managed to balance on the same step.

"Who is jealous now?" He whispered, caressing her face with his warm breath.

"You are a fool," Cersei said, trying to free herself from his grip. "Do you truly believe I'm jealous of a serving girl?"

"You can't lie to me." Jaime acknowledged, still smiling. His mouth was incredibly close to hers, the same mouth that had smirked when the king had refused to marry her to the prince. The same mouth she wanted to kiss. His lips moved again, and the way they did was almost harmful. "You are jealous of Melara Hetherspoon."

"I'm  _not_." Cersei insisted, finally managing to get ready of Jaime's grip. "Melara Hetherspoon will be nothing more than a bedwarmer."

It was Jaime who started walking away now.

"Well, I'm too tired to fight, Cersei. And I swear I'm not interested in the Hetherspoon girl. She has been following me lately. But I don't care for her Truly. She is too much needy, always trying to please me in any way she can."

 _Worms will have your maidenhead._ Her friend must be aware of Maggy's prophecy. In fact, the only thing in her mind must be a way to lose her virginity to prove how fate was wrong. A stable boy or even a squire could have easily taken her to bed and do the deed. They would even thank the little whore for being so generous. But Melara wanted what life hadn't given to her, and she wanted it desperately. The little fool actually believed it was possible to bed the heir of Casterly Rock and become his wife.

"I'm glad you think that way," Cersei said, following him down the staircase. "It would be a pity if you were to fall into her schemes. She has bled already, you know… Father would never forgive you if you were to leave the Rock leaving her pregnant with a bastard."

"Yes, I'm sure that has kept you worried all those nights you have refused to see me." He said, mocking her. "I suppose you wanted to see me so we could mend the time we were apart?"

"Yes." She replied, sighing. "Of course."

They continued down the staircase until they reached the Lion Mane's Bridge, the one that connected to the residential part of the castle. No word had been exchanged about where they were going because both of them knew. Besides two guards and a maid, they didn't meet anyone on their way to her chambers. Aunt Genna was certainly busy downstairs, still giving orders to the servants, making sure the feast of that night would be a success. Father had given orders to dine with his family one last time before leaving to the capital. And Septa Sarnella, who usually stayed in her chambers or praying in the sept, was away on the yard making certain arrangements.

"Did you know?" Jaime asked, after a few seconds, breaking the silence.

"No." She replied, somberly. There was doubt in his eyes when he looked at her sideways. "I knew something would happen. Father had to send you away to become a man, but—."

Jaime nodded, assuming his defeat.

"But he is sending me to the  _fucking_  Stormlands." He said, shaking his head. "I will be gone for some time."

"Lord Baratheon is a good friend of Father." Cersei reminded him. They had met the lord of Storm's End briefly in the past when Mother had taken them to court for a week. Besides, Aunt Genna loved to tell them stories, and many of those had regarded the friendships Father had made in his time at King's Landing. "It will do you good. You can befriend the Baratheons. Get that knighthood. Next time we meet, I'm sure you will be a knight… and I will be a princess."

"A princess? Please, Cersei, not this again." He said, irritated. "The king rejected Father's proposal. I don't think he will go back on his word. Things got ugly between the two of them. You saw how everyone seemed strange when we got back from Lannisport."

 _The king is not the answer,_ she thought.

"I won't give up." She stated, very directly. "And neither will Father. I asked him yesterday to take me with him to King's Landing."

Jaime grew pale at the sound of those words.

"To the capital? You want to  _leave_  home?"

"I'm ready for court." She claimed, raising her chin. "But Father doesn't want to take me there just yet." His expression smoothed immediately. "He said it isn't the right time. The king has been acting strange lately, probably with some kind of sickness. In fact, he mentioned this was the reason why he was sending you to Storm's End. To show the king how his good friends are still at his side, working together for the future of the realm." She sniffed, trying to be patient, even though it was not easy. "In a few months, I will join Father in the Red Keep. He believes I can still marry the Prince, but he has some work to do with the king first. Persuade him once more to accept me as his daughter-in-law. Forcing me into court at this time could mislead the king, make him believe Father was trying to defy him."

Jaime shook his head again, reprovingly.

"So, Father is using us as pieces in his little game."

"I'm glad he is," Cersei replied. Maybe Jaime was not so smart as she had believed in to be earlier. "He is the one playing the game for now."

"You talk like you don't care."

"I  _do_  care, Jaime." She replied. "That's why I'm willing to wait. One day, when our time comes, we will be in positions of power thanks to Father and his moves. And then… Then we will be powerful to love without shame. How many times must I say this to you? We have a game to play and we have to play it as Father wishes. We have to play it smart and with the right players."

"You may be right." Jaime stopped on his heels now. "But are we willing to pay the price?"

"If you love me, you will play it." She said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is the only way we could be together and safe in the future."

"You rely a lot on the power of a crown. The world will always judge our love."

"Then, we will smash the world, brother." She smiled, and more than ever she felt powerful. "Just because some day we can smash it like this." She snapped her fingers, right in front of her eyes.

"You scare me when you talk like this," Jaime said, and he seemed genuinely scared as he looked into her eyes. "You seem even colder than Father."

"Colder?" Cersei grabbed his hand, softly. "I'm not  _colder_ , Jaime. I'm burning inside and I won't stop until we are free to love." She moved his hand beneath her skirt, leading his finger once again inside her. They were still on the corridor outside her chamber, but she didn't care. "Our future is written since the day we were born together into this world." She continued, mysteriously. His fingers were inside her now and she kept pushing him. He had opened his mouth, lost in shock and pleasure, melting before her fire. "See how I burn? I burn for _us_ …" She licked his ear with the point of her tongue. "And I'm ready."

There was no time to be apart now. She clashed against his body, and his arms enveloped her immediately. For the first time since the Tournament, she felt safe again. It was all she needed to be happy, she thought, closing her eyes.

"I'm going to miss you, Cersei." He whispered, grabbing her face to kiss her lips once again.

"Then let us make sure you take with you something impossible to forget."

* * *

Dawn came with the sky tinged with red.

From the window in her chamber, Cersei watched the party leaving Casterly Rock. Dozens of horses marched down the road, bounded to the East. The banner of the Lannisters gleamed right ahead, being nothing more than a small red point disappearing slowly from afar.

Jaime was among the ones leaving through the Lion's Mouth. A part of her walked away with him, but a part of him stayed behind with her. The memory of their encounter, just a few hours ago, was now branded into her skin, and it wouldn't fade, not for a thousand years. A timid tear ran down her face, as she pressed herself against the window glass.

Someone knocked at the door.

Septa Sarnella entered the room slowly, bringing with her the mug. Usually, she would come to her bedroom an hour later, but not that day. They had to do something, preferably while Aunt Genna was still sleeping.

"Have you slept, my lady?" Sarnella walked, sitting in the empty chair in front of Cersei. She passed her the mug. The tea was still hot. Vapor emerged from it, casting different shapes in the cold air.

"Yes, septa." She said, accepting the drink. "Thank you."

"May the Mother bless you, my dear." The septa said, turning her eyes from Cersei to the group on the road. They were almost gone.

Sarnella served at Casterly Rock since Cersei was three-years-old. With a skin darker than usual, she was an exotic thing. It seemed she had ascendants from Essos, thus explaining her fluency in High Valyrian and her knowledge of the world. Around fifty-years-old, she still preserved part of her beauty under her garments and veils. She may be a woman of the Faith now, but before she had had her past. A woman's past. Maybe that was the reason why she served Cersei with such loyalty. And because a Lannister always pays their debts, and Septa Sarnella was smart enough to know she would be well rewarded in due time.

Cersei drank the tea. It had a bitter taste, but she didn't care. Her moon blood had not come yet but had decided to take precautions. Sarnella didn't know who had claimed her maidenhead but was attentive enough to suspect the truth.

"And you, septa?" Cersei asked, sniffing. "I hope you have slept well."

"I have, my lady," Sarnella confirmed, with half a smile. "Even though I was terribly distressed with the news."

"Yes, dreadful news," Cersei confirmed, sipping once more. "The feast was ruined, I'm afraid. After all the time Aunt Genna spent arranging things—"

"Yes, indeed. It is a pity." Sarnella didn't smile this time. She was expressionless, her face like one of the statues of the Mother on the sept.

"How did it happen? Do we know already?"

"Well, they are still investigating it." Sarnella pressed, just as calm as ever. "But a few bottles of wine were missing from the cellars. Maester Ullun will soon analyze her body, of course… But I daresay it is almost certain the foolish girl got drunk and fell on the well, drowning to death. A terrible way to go, for sure."

Cersei shook her head, the somber of a smile on her lips.

"Dreadful."

_Worms will have your maidenhead._

"Tell me, septa. I was wondering… Do you know what it means the word  _vemaynar?"_

" _Vemaynar_ , my lady?"

"I believe it comes from the High Valyrian."

"Yes, it is High Valyrian." Septa Sarnella said, grabbing the mug now empty on Cersei's hands. "If I'm not wrong, it means Herald of Truth. Like a justice officer."

"An executioner?"

"The executioner applies the sentence. The right word for that is  _verdaynar_. But the term  _vem_ means Truth, just as  _aynar_ means Herald. So, the Herald of Truth would be the right translation. Someone who points out the truth or who accuses someone of a crime. It's a term often heard in the judging houses of Volantis."

"Yes. I believe I heard it from a merchant down in Lannisport."

Septa Sarnella looked at her as if not believing that lie but abstained of any further comments.

_And then, the vemaynar will march from the shadows to point a pale finger at you and unveil what you try to hide._

If Melara's prophecy had come to form – with a little push from her side, yes, but nonetheless it had proved to be real – it was almost sure her bit of the prophecy would also manifest in her future. Or maybe not.

"Anyway, I must wear black," Cersei said, standing from her chair. The group down the road was gone. "Melara was a dear friend, and way too young to die in such a way."

**END OF PART I**


	7. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. I told you we were going to King’s Landing next, and we are, but not just yet. We have to make a stop in another place before traveling to the capital. Regarding Cersei's prophecy, the reveal about the Herald of Truth is meant to be interpreted as someone powerful enough to make justice. It can be many people, and Cersei will eventually wonder who those people might be. Sorry if it was disappointing. Regarding the maturity of Cersei, well, it seemed right when I wrote it. Even though I tried to show her insecurities, showing how jealous she was of Melara, thus managing to get Melara killed with the help of the septa.
> 
> I have realized now that I’m exploring more and more the Targaryen mythology around the time of the Defiance. This chapter is different from any other chapter I have written, but it was fun. I’m having quite a lot of fun writing this story so far.

 

**PART II**

**THE DEFIANCE**

* * *

**JON I**

**277 AC**

 

 

“I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.”

The song echoed softly through the Hall of Wings.

 _It is a myrish song_ , Rhaegar had once told him. _A sad and sweet song, if played the right way_. And he did, playing it with a cadence as sweet as rain on a summer morning. His fingers, so long and slender, caressed the dragon-shaped harp, flying delicately from string to string. It was an entrancing sight, especially rare to find in an autumn night in the Stormlands. But there he was, sitting on a three-legged stool as if was nothing more than a bard traveling down the road.

“I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair.”

The silver hair fell to his face, veiling his purple eyes.

Many candles had been lit on the hall, keeping the darkness at bay. The long table still bore the remnants of the small feast, but no one seemed to notice. Roasted meat, capon, wine and all kind of colorful fruits crowned the tabletop. The servants wouldn’t dare step in the hall to collect the dishes. They were watching from the doors or the windows of the gallery. Even the dogs were silent and still.

Someone sniffed beside him, making him move his eyes from the prince.

Lady Alyna Seymout was crying, drying her eyes discreetly with the corner of a handkerchief. She was not the only one, as he quickly realized. There were tears glistening like diamonds in the faces of every woman. And who could blame them? When he had heard the same song, years ago, his own eyes had become wet.

“I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair.” Rhaegar finished, as the last note sang from the silver strings of his harp.

Applause filled the hall as the prince climbed down from the tool. He bowed to his audience thrice. Jon clapped along, with a wide smile on his lips. It was good to see somethings never changed, no matter where you go or how many years pass. The prince was well-loved by the people of the Seven Kingdom. There was no doubt about that. Even though he had been knighted the year before, he seemed less like a warrior every year that passed.

“Jon.” Father grabbed his forearm gently, taking advantage of the distraction. “Promise you will give him a word.”

When the crown prince had come down Griffin’s Throat unannounced, wearing a hooded cloak and passing as a hedge knight, Lord Armond Connington had thanked the Gods for this blessing. His body was deteriorating to the point of Maester Lygas acknowledging he wouldn’t last many years. Even so, he was determined to seek the Targaryen support against his rivalry with House Morrigen. A minor dispute of lands that Father was obsessed with and that wanted to sort out before his body was put to rest.

“I will do my best, but I can’t promise the outcome you pray for.”

"You don't give yourself enough credit, my son," Armond replied, his voice shaking slightly. Pride gleamed as a smile took form in his lips. "The prince looks at you like a brother. He will consider the petition if it comes from your lips."

Jon smiled, but briefly. Rhaegar would hear him, yes. He would even try to intercede with the King or the Hand. Nonetheless, Rhaegar was not the one sitting on the Iron Throne. Gossip from the capital told Aerys Targaryen was growing deeply jealous of his son. Such a request could place Rhaegar in a delicate position among the power games he so much despised.

            “I will talk to him, Father. Rest easy.”

The feast ended slowly. Most of the ladies made their best to greet personally the prince or give him a word or two. He was still to marry, thus making him the most desirable bachelor of the Seven Kingdoms. Allegedly, a few offers of marriage had been placed before the King, but all of them had been bluntly refused. It seemed Aerys was set to find the perfect bride for his son.

_Or no bride at all._

Rhaegar looked exhausted, but the smile never faltered from his lips. He returned the harp to his squire, Myles Mooton, before giving his attention to young Lady Hilien Holgan. Lady Alyna, with her eyes still red from all that crying, was also a contender for the prince’s attention.

“Who will rescue him this time, my lord? You or me?” Myles Mooton, who had sat down the table the entire evening, took the empty seat at Jon’s side.

            Jon laughed, sipping some more wine.

            “I daresay he doesn’t need saving, Myles.” His eyes flashed to Rhaegar again. He seemed a little awkward between the ladies, but cordiality and kindness were attributes he donned as well as the red cloak on his back.

 "Oh, he does," Myles replied, with a smile warm enough to touch his own voice. "They love him because he loves them all so easily, but it would do him good to say no to some of those ladies sometimes. I don't know how he is standing up right now. We have been traveling from Summerhall all day. He must be as tired as the Crone.” He exchanged a glance with Jon. “I am for sure.”

            _Summerhall._

He had suspected Rhaegar was coming from the ruined palace. He had come to the castle’s door, wearing a hooded cloak and being accompanied only by his squire. Just two ragged travelers going down the road. Both of them could have easily passed as hedge knights, and not as a royal entourage.  

"So, he traveled to the palace again?"

Myles smiled.

            “He did, yes.” A bit of nostalgy touched the squire’s lips. “I feel like he belongs there somehow.”

            Summerhall had been destroyed the day Rhaegar was born. The tragedy had resulted in the death of King Aegon V, as well as his eldest son, Prince Duncan, the so-called Prince of Dragonflies. Rumors about sorcery and an attempt to hatch dragon eggs had spread the following years as the reasons behind the destructive fire.

 "Yes, I know," Jon answered. 

            _He can’t be haunted by the tragedy forever._

As time passed, the candles started burning out in pools of wax. The servants came to remove the dishes. Rhaegar had left the ladies to be surrounded by a few lords wishing to congratulate him for his recently acquired knighthood or to talk privately about matters regarding their lands. Just as Myles had said, Rhaegar never said no. He listened and, as far as Jon noticed, there was always a genuine interest gleaming in his eyes.

_He is too good._

Finally, Father ended the feast, raising his glass to propose a final toast.

“To His Grace, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and our beloved King Aerys II! May the Targaryens live long!”

The people toasted and cheered, drinking one last time.

“Good luck, my boy.” Father murmured into Jon’s ear before leaving his chair. “We will toast ourselves in the morrow, I hope.”

Jon bid his Father goodnight, before turning to the prince’s squire.

"I guess I will me be the one rescuing him, then," Jon whispered to him. Myles, it seemed, had taken notice of Lady Alyna’s beauty.

The squire winked at him, before leaving his seat to walk toward the ladies.

“Your Grace, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I would very much like to give you a word in private," Jon said, a few seconds later, touching Rhaegar on the shoulder. He was hearing a tale about the Tournament of Ashford from old Ser Crassing, a knight sworn to House Connington.

Rhaegar looked over his shoulder and smiled with relief.

“I couldn’t refuse you under your own roof, my friend. If you will excuse me, Ser Crassing—”

Under many eyes, they started walking out of the hall.

"Myles teased you needed salvation, but I didn't believe him," Jon smirked, as they walked out of the hall. “But it seems you actually did.”

"Myles will be the one needing salvation tonight if he doesn't mind himself," Rhaegar observed, noticing the squire was trying to catch Lady Alyna’s attention.

“Leave the lad for a night, my prince. I bet he will be falling asleep in less than an hour—”

“ _My prince_?” Rhaegar asked, teasingly. “I thought we had agreed you wouldn’t call me that again when you were eight-years-old.”

When Jon was a little boy, he had been sent to King’s Landing to squire to an Uncle from his mother's side that served as Kingsguard, Ser Harlan Grandison. Rhaegar was a year older than him, but he was also squiring to Ser Gerold Hightower. A friendship between the two had been inevitable during their sword practices in the courtyard. Though he had returned to Griffin’s Roost three-years ago, his friendship with Rhaegar had continued over letters.

“Most of the people in that room wouldn’t consider gallant of me if I were to address you by your name," Jon explained what seemed rather obvious.

“You were always more aware of the rules than I," Rhaegar concluded, with his iron voice. “Well, I was wondering if you could take me to Nestower, my friend. I would very much like to contemplate the bay from there.”

Nestower was the highest tower of Griffin’s Roost castle. At such a late hour, the path to the top would be dark, but Jon couldn’t refuse such a request. They grabbed some torches from the gatehouse and them up they went along the spiral staircase. As they climbed, it was like the old times. Memories from the days in King’s Landing emerged as they remembered stories about hunting cats in the castle, evading guards to steal pies in the kitchens or borrow books from Grand Maester Pycelle.

"I miss how innocent we were," Rhaegar said at a time, dreamily.

Eventually, they started talking about more recent matters. The Tournament of Lannisport for one, and the victories Rhaegar had managed on the lists before Ser Arthur Dayne had defeated him. The tension regarding Duskendale, provoked by the continued refusal of Lord Denys Darklyn to pay his taxes. And, of course, the royal family.

"You traveled alone." Jon pointed out. "Shouldn’t you have a Kingsguard by your side?”

Rhaegar shrugged. It was clear he had touched a sensible nerve.

“My Father needs his Kinguards at his side.” He simply said. “He believes someone might try to kill my baby brother.”

 _But not his oldest son_ , Jon thought to himself, confirming his suspicions.

“I heard the king was protecting the baby at Maegor’s.”

Jon had many questions, just like anyone else. Was there a real threat? Could there be an enemy only the crown knew about? Or was this only the feeble fear of a worried father? As far as Jon knew, the royal couple had reasons to be stressed out, yes. He could still recall the names of the princes who had been born and who had died within a year. Daeron. Jaehaerys. Aegon. Even so, the infants had died from health issues. None of them had been murdered. At least, not officially.

Rhaegar, as he expected, didn’t comment any further.

“And how is your Mother?”

Queen Rhaella had always been kind to Jon, especially after his mother’s death. She used to give him sweets and, sometimes, she would even invite him to dinner with Rhaegar in her chambers.

“She is better now.” Rhaegar continued, and a smile flashed through his lips. “The birth was not an easy one, as we were expecting. But she is recovered, and when I left the city she was back on her gardens.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

As they climbed the steps, only their breath was heard for a few seconds.

"I thought you would be married by now," Rhaegar spoke out loud. "You left King's Landing, as I recall because your Father wanted to marry you."

Jon laughed, taken aback by such a witty remark.

“I told you the betrothal was broken off.” He said. He had almost married Jeyne Morrigen, solving thus the matter of lands. But little Jeyne had married one of her cousins. “And you? What is your excuse for not being married, my prince?”

Rhaegar laughed back.

“Not having a sister, I guess.”

Their laughter filled the tower.

“Well, answering in a simple way,” Rhaegar finally managed to say, cleaning the tears that laughter had brought to his eyes. “Father hasn’t found me a suitable bride yet.”

"That's pretty clear," Jon replied. "I'm sure he will find soon enough, though."

“Yes, I guess he will.” Rhaegar continued. “Lately, he has been inclined to find me a bride from Essos.”

 “Essos?”

Jon was not expecting that. Neither was the entire realm.

"I suggested I could go to Volantis, or even to the Free Cities, just to try and find a suitable bride." Understanding how Jon frowned in admiration before such a remark, he quickly explained himself. "Don't judge me, my friend. You know how I always wanted to travel across the Narrow Sea. This would be the perfect opportunity to do so. But Father wouldn’t hear about it. He says the heir to the Iron Throne doesn’t have to travel to foreign lands when he can simply send people to do that for him.”

“Even so, a bride from Essos would be atypical.”

“An alliance with the Free Cities could prove useful in the future.” Rhaegar shared, showing he had considered the matter in his mind. “Grand Maester Pycelle tells me it would benefit our trading deals.”

“But would the people love a foreign queen?”

Jon turned his face to see how Rhaegar would respond to that. Even though they were climbing the stairs, the flames from their torches were enough to show his face. The smile on the prince’s lips told him how much he missed him. It warmed his heart somehow.

“You should never have left King’s Landing, you know?” He said. “Your guidance would prove useful quite a few times.”

_The prince looks at you like a brother._

“You hold me in high regard, Rhaegar. I don’t believe I deserve it.”

"You see what I fail to see most of the times," Rhaegar said, finishing with a sigh. "My mind is not focused on the court or the intrigues that move its people. Most of the times, my mind is somewhere else. If I had you at my side, my path would be easy."

“What do you mean?”

Rhaegar smiled a sad smile.

“It’s hard to explain, I’m afraid.”

“Are you in love?” Jon asked, forcing a smile. “Has a lady at court finally captured your heart?”

The sad smile on the prince’s lips brightened.

“No, nothing of that.”

Rhaegar had kissed two ladies at court but, as far as Jon knew, nothing else had happened. And those kisses had been almost stolen by the ladies after the prince had played his harp to them. He usually kept himself to books. In a place like King’s Landing, it was a rare thing for a man of his rank and age not to fall in love.

_A robber in a coffer full of gold that doesn’t steal a single coin._

 “If it isn’t your heart, then what is it that bothers you?”

The prince sniffed and grew serious.

“I will tell you in a bit, my friend.”

For the remainder of their climb, their talk resumed back to Jon.

"No, no else for me." He admitted after Rhaegar questioned if there was a lady under his eye. “My Father wanted to marry me to another lady, but she eloped to a Motherhouse when she heard she had to marry me.”

It was partly true, but Rhaegar hadn’t to know it. The sound of his laugh was good to hear. As talk focused now on Jon, he told the prince about the disputed lands a few miles West from Griffin’s Roost. It was the right occasion to bring up the matter. Rhaegar heard it carefully, placing a few questions to gather all the information. He even offered to pass through the lands in question on his way to the capital.

Finally, they reached the top of the tower. Jon unlocked the small trapdoor on the ceiling, while Rhaegar dragged the iron ladder to climb to the top. A gust of wind greeted them as they climbed into the night. Darkness enveloped the land around Griffin’s Roost, but the moon was full enough to cast a silver light over the endless sea. The castle was placed on a lofty crag, jutting out from the shores of Cape Wrath. From there, they contemplated the red stone cliffs that descended into the stormy waters of Shipbreaker Bay. The Griffin's Throat, the long natural ridge that served as the entrance to the land, was submerged in darkness.

"How quite beautiful," Rhaegar said, approaching the battlements. His eyes were lost on the bay. “Do you imagine how it would be to fly over the sea?”

Jon stood right at his side. The wind caressed his face, disheveling his red hair.

“It would be quite thrilling.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would be.”

They stood silent for a few seconds that seemed to last for an eternity. The waves crashed against the cliffs and a few gulls flew over the water. It was a calm autumn night.

"I have recently understood the beautiful things of the world are also the heaviest," Rhaegar said, breaking the silence.

Jon turned his face to Rhaegar and noticed there were tears glistening in his eyes.

 _But he is smiling_.

“Rhaegar.” Jon started, alarmed. “Is something of the matter?”

_Maybe there is a hidden threat back at the capital._

"No," Rhaegar confirmed, sighing. As quickly as they had come, the tears were gone. “I’m fine. I just get emotional every time I travel down to Summerhall.”

 _The shadow of Summerhall_.

“Summerhall again?” Jon insisted. “Why do you keep going there? The palace is nothing but a ruin.”

“It feels like home.” Rhaegar continued, his word quickly taken by the wind. “More than King’s Landing ever did.”

Jon couldn’t understand it, so he decided Rhaegar continue.

“Sometimes I just feel I have to go there.” Rhaegar’s eyes were back on the sea. “The intrigues of court, all those rules I have to follow, everything… It becomes too heavy for me. I just have to flee for a few weeks, once in a while, to walk along the halls of the palace and remember what it means.”

“You are the Prince of Dragonstone. The heir to the crown.” Jon said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. For the first time, he saw what Myles had seen. A tiredness Rhaegar concealed almost perfectly. An act to be the perfect prince. “I imagine it is not easy to bear such weight alone, but you can’t let Summerhall unsettle you. The tragedy doesn’t mean anything about who you are.”

Rhaegar turned to him and, for the first time, he seemed confused.

“Unsettle me? You are wrong, Jon—”

“You are emotional, Rhaegar.” He had to interrupt the prince. It was time to force some sense into him. “Emotions are a sensible trait for a prince. That's why your people love you. But if you are blaming yourself for what happened the day you were born, you have to crush those feelings before they devour you. I fear the tragedy may be clouding your mind. You were a babe, and such a shadow can’t haunt your life forever.”

Rhaegar smiled, shutting his friend by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You mistake me, my friend." He said. "Yes, I am an emotional man, but my mind is not weak or clouded. I am aware of my duties. The reason why I kept traveling to Summerhall is another.”

“Then I beg your forgiveness, my prince. I didn't want to offend you—" He remarked, not at all convinced.

“You are far from offending me, Jon.” Rhaegar removed the hand. “This proves you should be at my side at King’s Landing.”

“At your side?”

“This is part of the reason why I decided to stop here. There is tension in the Red Keep. There always was, but lately, it has grown worse. I can feel something is coming. My Father does his best to rule with justice, but his fears are taking hold of his good heart. I play the game they want me to play, but you always played it better."

Jon was speechless. The confession from Rhaegar’s lips was something he was certainly not expecting.

“I was never one of making many friends," Rhaegar added. “But the ones I did, I treasure. And you are my closest friend, Jon.”

“Rhaegar, I would like to return with you, but my father is ill and—”

“You don’t have to come _now_.” Rhaegar stopped him immediately. “I don't want to place such a burden on your shoulders. But soon I may need you, and I would very much like to have you at my side.”

Jon nodded, understanding what he meant.

"I don't understand, though," Jon said. “How does this relate to Summerhall?”

Rhaegar smiled, removing his hand from Jon’s shoulder to face again the sea.

“Lately, I have been following whispers, prophecies and blotted pages.” He said. “Summerhall has become my haven, the only place where I can recollect my feelings and plan.”

“Plan?” Jon asked, taken aback. He looked around. They were alone, far from any ear. “What could you be planning? Are you telling me you want to—?”

_Is he preparing to rebel against his own Father?_

No, that wasn’t Rhaegar.

“Dragons, Jon.”

And then it all made sense. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was fun to write. It was hard to portray Rhaegar since the bits of information we have are so scarce. However, his connection with Summerhall is intriguing and I want to explore that here. I know this is going at a slow pace, but I’m setting the stage for greater things. Please, let me know if you are reading and liking this. I’m putting so much work into it, and I really want to understand if this is going the right way!


	8. Rhaella I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, as you surely noticed, I have decided to change the name of this fanfiction. In the beginning, I was planning this to be a story focused on Cersei Lannister becoming Rhaegar's wife. That will happen eventually, but while I was planning, the plot kept growing and the story started focusing a lot on the Targaryens. So, A Legacy of Flames seemed more appropriate.
> 
> The Defiance is almost upon us. I have decided to explore a POV of Rhaella first, though. I know what will happen on this Part II, and I can confirm the true action will start in the next chapter. However, Rhaella is an obscure character, and little is known about her. Nonetheless, she was a Targaryen, and I want to explore what she would have felt and done during the Defiance. This chapter lays up the ground for that. Let me know what you think of this portrayal of her.
> 
> I also want to thank you, once again, if you have reviewed or followed. If you haven't, please I would really appreciate if you took some time to give a word or two, just to let me know you are there. The reviews are the fuel for motivation!

 

**RHAELLA I**

**277 AC**

Aerys wanted to visit the little prince before leaving for Duskendale.

"And His Majesty would like you to join him tomorrow, Your Grace." Ser Barristan Selmy was always mindful of his words. Most of the Kingsguards had learned how to soften Aerys' orders, almost as if they had made a pact between themselves to protect her somehow. To attempt to maintain the illusion that her husband had some kind of affection for her. "He wishes to say his farewell before his departure."

"I thank you, ser," Rhaella answered, managing a smile. "You can tell the king I would be glad to join him."

"Very well, Your Grace."

"Tell me." The queen said hastily before the guard headed back to the door of her chamber. "Have any news come regarding my son?"

Rhaegar had left to Summerhall two weeks before.

"Yes, Your Grace." Barristan was a proper knight, but he still had much to learn about the game of faces. He couldn't hide his feelings or thoughts from his eyes or the quiver of his lips.

When she was seven, her grandfather had told her she was very good at reading people.  _A powerful weapon for a queen_ , he had said, touching her finger gently. Aegon V had been right. It was clear from the Kinsguard's expression that he knew something. In fact, he seemed surprised no one else had told her about her own son.

"According to the Grand Maester, a raven came from Griffin's Roost. The prince stopped by for a short visit, before resuming his journey to the capital. He must be a day or two from the city."

"A raven?" Rhaella asked, carefully. "When did it come?"

Ser Barristan exchanged a glance with septa Ondira, seated by the queen's side. The gnarled woman was sitting, reading a passage of the  _Seven-Pointed Star_ , but hearing each word carefully.

"Three days ago, Your Grace."

_A bird locked in a cage._

No, not a bird.

A dragon.

"I'm sure all this terrible matter with Lord Denys has been keeping my husband occupied," Rhaella said, averting his eyes from the Kingsguard. Her grandfather had also told her she should always be a reflection of grace. "I'm sure it slipped his mind to share the news with me."

The kingsguard stepped out of the room soon after.

It seemed she was losing her grip over the threads of power sustaining King's Landing. The Grand Maester had promised to bring her word of Rhaegar if any raven reached the capital, but his promise had not prevailed. One more who had failed his queen. Aerys, for sure, must have told Pycelle to report only to him.

 _The Lonely Queen_ , she thought to herself bitterly, contemplating once again her chamber.

A few years ago, it had looked rather different.

She had maintained the same decoration her grandmother had chosen. The same tapestries, the chandeliers with high candles, the dark wooden furniture with little entails carved after the Targaryen history. Music had echoed through the walls. For a time, she had had her own bard. And many ladies had served her, playing games, telling stories, helping her become queen. How she missed Princess Dorea Martell, Lady Cassana Baratheon, and even Joanna, despite all the hard feelings between them.

But her court was a lonely place these days. She had septa Ondira at her side, and she was not a friend.  _A Spy_. Since Aerys had repented for his sins, he had forbidden her to keep ladies in waiting.

"They are nothing but temptations to the flesh." Aerys had explained, very feebly. "And we can't trust none of them."

A feeble excuse indeed. The woman who had climbed last to his bed had been a whore from Volantis she had never taken for a lady in waiting.  _Reyna the Marigold_. But Aerys wouldn't hear any word against his decision. She was the queen, but not entitled to have ladies in waiting. She was to be confined to her chambers and gardens, accompanied by a septa of his choosing. Sometimes, he would bring her to the Throne Room when holding audiences, or when a dignified guest was to visit. But excluding such situations, she should remain in the solitude of her chambers.

Her servants belonged to him. Her septas reported to him. Even her children were being kept away from her.

Only a friend remained.

"Do you wish to accompany me to the sept, Your Grace?" Asked septa Ondira, after dinner was served. A servant had come to clean up the table and bring some tea and lemon cakes.

"I'm feeling tired, septa," Rhaella said, sipping the last of her tea. "I do believe I will keep my prayers to myself tonight."

Ondira was an old fat woman, quick to judge. A reproving look touched her eyes, as she nodded and got up from her chair. As usual, she would go down to the small sept on Maegor's Holdfast to light her candles to the Seven before returning to sleep at the bed by her side.

After the septa left her chamber, Rhaella moved to her bedroom. She was never alone. Two servant girls helped her change into her bedgown. Lately, she averted her own reflection in the mirror. After Viserys' birth, she had grown thin and paler. Her silver hair had lost some of its brightness and her eyes were surrounded by dark circles. Not a queenly sight.

"Here, girls," Rhaella said, giving a sweet caramel to each one of them after they were finished. Usually, she would have given them silver and gold coins, but those were out of her reach lately. "You can go now. I'm going to pray while I wait for septa Ondira."

"We can keep you company, Your Grace."

"That won't be necessary." She replied, curtly, kneeling by her bedside. "Go back to your quarters and have a good night."

One of the servants, the one with rounder breasts and pretty green eyes, reminded her Joanna a lot. The resemblances stopped there since her hair was red as fire, but there was something in the girl that her friend also had. An inquisitive look, perhaps. She was the one reluctant to leave, looking at the queen for a long time.

"Don't make me repeat my orders again, girl," Rhaella replied, rather sternly. She could be trapped, but she was still of the blood of the dragon.

The girl curtsied, finally leaving Rhaella on her own.

On her knees, the queen closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment. The silence was broken only by the wind outside her window.

"Mother Above, queen of the heavenly skies, grant me the strength to keep my duty." She said, sighing at the end.

The wind whistled back, but no more was heard beyond silence. The footsteps of the servants were long gone. Standing up again, the queen walked softly to the door of her room, the one not leading back to her waiting room but to the corridor. Quietly, she placed her ear to the wooden door, trying to hear something. Silence. No, not silence. She could hear something else. Someone breathing, standing right on the other side of the door.

Slowly, she opened the door, enough only to see who was behind it.

"Ser Gwayne." She murmured, with some relief.

The Kingsguard was not taken aback. Not any longer.

"Your Grace." He replied, maintaining his back turned to the door. His eyes were locked on the corridor, making sure there was no one hearing them.

He reminded her so much of Bonifer Hasty.

Being the tallest of the Kingsguard, he had blue eyes and dark hair. A scar on the chin, covered by his beard, gave him a natural charm. Many times had she thought about him, and the warmness of his callused hands.

"So, my husband is really going by himself?" She asked, feeling her heart jumping in her chest.

"He has decided to do so, Your Grace." Ser Gwayne answered, not turning his neck an inch. "We won't be marching alone. We will take a small force of thirty men, to ensure justice and capture Lord Darklyn if it comes to that. The stable master is preparing the horses as we speak."

Lord Denys had come to King's Landing five years ago if Rhaella's memory didn't fail her. He had just married a myrish woman by then. A very gallant and handsome man, still waiting for his turn to rule the city. She could never tell that one day he would have the audacity to rise against her own husband.

"I guess people can surprise us." She told, approaching her mouth to the door. "I was sure Lord Denys would have changed his mind by now."

"He seems to be hearing the wrong counsel."

"And the blockade?" Rhaella asked, softly. Ser Gwayne Gaunt moved slightly on his feet. "Last we spoke, you told me the king was inclined to follow Lord Tywin's counsel."

"I'm afraid the Hand and the King have quarreled today, Your Grace." Ser Gwayne continued, confirming her suspicions. "The king believes he has to accept Lord Darklyn's invitation to demonstrate he does not fear him."

_It all comes to fear._

"I see." The queen replied, feeling the wind coming down the corridor. "Anything else I should know, ser?"

Gwayne didn't respond for a few seconds, certainly considering whatever was in his mind.

"I'm accompanying the king, Your Grace." He said, finally.

The little hope inside her chest twisted at the sound of those words.

"The Lord Commander is not going? Or Ser Arthur?"

Those were the favorites companions of Aerys whenever he had to travel outside the city. It seemed rather odd he had changed Gwayne this tome.

"The King insisted it should be me, Your Grace."

Rhaella swallowed, feeling nervous.

"Does he suspect about our little meetings?"

"I don't believe so, Your Grace." His answer was a quick one, proving the thought had already passed through his mind. "The king suggested it should be me accompanying me for being the tallest of his Kingsguard."

"Then, may the Seven bring you back safely, ser," Rhaella said, ended thus the conversation. "I shall pray for you to keep my husband safe." She added at the end.

"I'm grateful for your blessing, Your Grace."

Just as slowly as she had opened it, the queen closed the door.

After getting herself under the covers of her bed, she looked at the ceiling of her bedroom, waiting for the septa to come back. The shadows danced around her room, making her company while the sleep didn't come.

Gwayne had become a friend while Aerys had been away in Lannisport. In those days of fear and torment, when the worry for Viserys' safety had started, the knight had been the one extending a hand to her. He had later confessed she reminded him of his own Mother, even though he was two years older than her. She had accepted his help, and the bits of information he brought to her door. It was the only way to know what was happening at court.

It seemed an argument had arisen again between Aerys and Tywin during the last week. The Hand was opposed to the idea of the king accepting the invitation from Denys Darklyn. Tywin had defended an economic blockade to Duskendale until the taxes were paid: the ships bound to the city would be averted to King's Landing, the roads to Duskendale would be patrolled and anyone that refused to obey such orders would have to pay fines accordingly. For two or three days, the plan had been discussed and it was almost enforced.

However, Aerys had had a change of heart.

_Always wanting to prove who truly has the crown._

Back in the days when they were nothing but children, Aerys had been another man. The crown in his head seemed accursed, however, shaping him to be a different man. A bitter one. His late decisions, for instance, were the result of fear, leading him down in a spiral of darkness. Deep in his heart, there was something paining him, more than anything else. The loss of their children. It pained perhaps even more than it did to her.

Aerys had blamed their children's deaths on spies and murderers. He had then suspected her to bring men to her bed. And he had even turned against the Gods, sure it was their punishment for his infidelity.

He was losing confidence in everyone but himself.

 _And a man who rules by himself, and by himself alone, is no king at all, but only a tyrant_. Yes, the words of her Uncle Prince Duncan the Dragonfly, the one who had given up the throne for love, came to her mind often.

A tyrant was what Aerys was becoming.

And it seemed harder and harder to find inside him the man he had been. She had long lost his influence over him, of course. Perhaps she had never had such an influence. Rhaegar had become a target of jealousy. And Tywin and even Steffon were also losing their grasp on their dear friend.

And then, who would tame the mad dragon?

 _No one_ , she thought, with a shudder, listening the steps of Septa Ondira on the corridor.

* * *

Grey clouds gathered in the sky when dawn broke.

A clear omen that a strong autumn storm would fall over the city very soon, turning the roads into mud. A journey to Duskendale wouldn't be smooth.

Escorted by septa Ondira, Queen Rhaella marched along the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast toward the room where her baby was being kept.  _No, protected_. The room was next to her husband's private chamber and had a Kingsguard always standing by the door. That morning, the duty had befallen to Ser Harlan Grandison.

Another guard was placed inside the room all the time, with the wet nurse that looked after the child and Aerys own private taster, who had been charged with the task of drinking from the woman's breasts to make sure her milk wasn't poisoned.

"Your Grace," Harlan said.

"Is the king here already?"

The Kinsguard nodded, opening the door for her.

It was a simple room, with tapestries hanging on the walls depicting the day Aegon had landed on the hill named after him. It was a fine tapestry, one of Rhaella's favorites. It transpired some sense of peace and hope.

Aerys was standing by the crib, donning his best golden armor. He had shaven his face, and combed his hair, almost looking like the long-lost brother who had a sweet laugh for her and not a cruel one. Lined up on the wall, with their heads down, were three people. The wet nurse, the taster and Ser Arthur Dayne from the Kingsguard.

"You are late." The king said as Rhaella approached.

"As far as I remember, I didn't receive orders to be here at a certain time." She replied, curtly.

Rhaella didn't even look at him, setting her eyes on the crib.

Her baby was sleeping with an innocent smile on his lips. He was still a small thing, but already robust and healthier than any of the other babes she had had. Even Rhaegar had not looked as healthy as him.

"Soon, he will be taking his first steps," Rhaella said, lifting her eyes to face her husband. "You know you can't keep him locked in this room forever."

Aerys turned his eyes from the baby to her.

He was not pleased with her remark.

"I'm visiting Duskendale." He said as if that fact was more important than discussing their child's upbringing.

"Yes, so I have heard."

"Tywin will be in charge while I'm gone."

"I guessed so."

"I want you to keep yourself to Maegor's."

Rhaella sniffed.

"Why?"

Aerys grabbed her hand, trying to be gentle.

He was harder than he intended.

"Because I love you, woman."

 _This is not love,_ she reminded herself. A poor knight she had never seen again had made her feel loved. But not Aerys.

"You want me to keep myself to Maegor's… or are you keeping me here under strict orders?"

Aerys shook his head.

"You are whining again, Rhaella. I'm doing the best for our family, and the best for our family is to survive. I don't want you to wander down at court, so close to our enemies—"

_This is ludicrous._

" _Enemies?_  I thought you were traveling to Duskendale to stop our enemies. I didn't realize they were here." She paused, reading the expression in his face. Fear, hidden in a mask of brutality.

"There are things a woman's soft heart cannot understand." He replied, using the same old excuse. "That's why I'm the one wearing the crown, Rhaella." His nails clasped into her flesh, digging her skin. "When I'm back, I will give you another child."

"A child?"

"So you can shut up and stop being so unhappy." He said, before pressing his lips to hers. She tried to return the kiss, but her lips were slow to move. His impatient tongue tried to go through her defenses like a battering ram. Eventually, his teeth found her lower lip and bit with enough force to make her cry in pain and push him back.

Blood filled her mouth, tainting in red the lips of her husband.

"Yes." He repeated, smiling a wicked smile. His tongue licked the blood in his own lips. "I will give you a little daughter when I come back."

After glancing toward Viserys one last time, he walked out of the room.

Rhaella looked after him, cleaning the blood on her lips with the back of her hand. A single tear ran through her eyes, oblivious to the fact that Ser Arthur Dayne, the wet nurse, and the taster were still right there.

 _Be graceful_ , the voice of her grandfather whispered in the back of her mind. She raised her chin, and looked down to the small entourage waiting by the wall, frozen.

_What a fool they see in me._

Rhaella looked again to the door.

Aerys was gone and, for the first time in forever, a dark prayer came to her.

_Please, Stranger, let him fall._


	9. The Kingsguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, good feedback for the last two chapters! I'm glad this story is slowly getting some readers. Please, review to show your support, criticism, and ideas. And let us see if you like this chapter too. I know how the Defiance will play out in this fanfiction, but I loved to read your suggestions. So, the Defiance commences: this chapter has action, intrigue, politics and is, once again, mostly canon. It is also the longest chapter so far. I hope you enjoy it. Please, take your time to review, if you can spare a minute or two.

**THE KINGSGUARD**

**277 AC**

 

 

The storm broke during the first day.

"Shit," Uttered Ser Gwayne, as the rain clashed against his armor. The journey to Duskendale could be done in a day and a half at a hasty pace, but not with a muddy road and rainy wind gusting against their eyes.

As predicted, things started going amiss as they proceeded along the Rosby Road. The walls of King's Landing disappeared behind them, lost in a sea of mist. The horses whined angrily, the soldiers shivered inside their armors and the king, more than anyone else, started growing irritated. He barked orders from his horse and complained about Gwayne's capacity to lead their small force.

"This is not a royal procession down the streets of the capital, ser Gwayne." He yelled when they stopped at Robsy for the first night. Edwin Hayford, squiring to the king, trembled while pouring him wine. "The men are lazy and slow because you let them be. Make sure they travel swiftly on the morrow or I will find a whip to teach them myself."

Even so, sometimes Gods mock the words of kings.

As they resumed their journey under heavy rain, it was the king the one delaying them. A little stone entered the horseshoe of his stallion, forcing them to stop for three hours while a man was sent to the nearby village to find a blacksmith. The hope of reaching Duskendale was crushed by something as simple as a rock in a horseshoe. Under the rain, it was decided they would take shelter on the trees of a nearby wood.

"Autumn is upon us." The king seemed to have forgotten his remarks from the previous night. He had changed out of his armor and seemed more comfortable in his tunic. Besides, a glass of wine helped sooth his mad humor. "Yet, I'm sure this vile storm is the work of the myrish whore that oaf took for a wife. I will have her eyes gouged out, and her tongue ripped apart before I give her a witch's death."

Ser Gwayne was given the privilege of dining with the king that night since there were no much more companions riding with them. The escort of thirty-soldiers had some distinguished guests among them, but the king didn't want that sort of company for dinner.  _Even I deserve a break from those worms_ , he justified.

"Tywin wanted me to travel by sea," Aerys said, extending his hand to catch a few drops of rain leaking through the tent's roof. It was astounding how his jealousy for the Hand came up even miles away from the city. "But as I told him, the harlot could play a trick on us. How many stories have we heard about ships sinking thanks to a witch's curse?"

"Yes, Your Grace. It was the right decision." Gwayne replied, refusing Edwin Hayford. The squire was about to serve him wine. "Water for me, boy."

As the squire poured water into his cup, he reflected again on the stories he had heard. Spells of water and fire. He had no place in his heart for magic. He had never believed the tales of old. At his eyes, it was simply an Autumn storm. Nevertheless, it was easier to agree with the king, than to start an argument over an obscure topic like magic. He was no maester.

The conversation went down a different path, as Aerys started reminiscing about the War of the Ninepenny Kings. They could have been delayed, sleeping on tents across the road, but the King was oblivious. He retold them how he had become a knight, somewhere on a battlefield in the Stepstones. Obviously, he omitted the part Gwayne knew for himself: that Tywin Lannister had been the one dubbing him a knight.

"One day, if you are lucky, boy…" He told his squire, patting him on the arm. The lad was standing beside the king's chair, holding the wine jug. "One day you might be knighted on a battlefield. I have plans to expand our territories very soon, perhaps even across the sea."

Gwayne forced a smile, noticing the king was looking for his approval.

The man was already known for pronouncing harsh words.  _Or rushed ones_. Years ago, Gwayne had heard him talk about building a New Wall beyond the one manned by the Night's Watch so that new territories could be claimed farther North. Later, he had given up such an idea but defended the founding of a new city, made of marble stone, on the other shore of the Blackwater Rush. Ideas from a mind that dreamt with greatness. But once again, the Kingsguard knew better not to ask.

"But before anything else, I will deal with Lord Denys." The king continued, sipping from his third glass of wine. "I know exactly how to deal with his sort."

Not much later, the king dismissed him, while his squire helped him change to bed. Gwayne walked out of the pavilion, allowing the king his privacy for a few moments.

Somehow, the cold meat served at dinner revolved in his stomach. He was nervous.  _How will he deal with Lord Darklyn?_ , Gwayne asked himself, biting the inside of his mouth. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had given him some words before leaving the capital since he had partaken on the Small Council meetings.

"The king insists going on his own, but we don't believe he will be endangered." Ser Gerold Hightower had told him, convincingly. "His Grace is to be a guest of Lord Denys to hear his petition regarding his request for a charter. That's all, or so we hope."

But then he had closed his lips, tightening them into a thin line.

"Be aware, nonetheless." He added, his eyes stopping for a few seconds on the sword on his hilt. "The king may decide unexpectedly upon the matter—"

 _And bring a storm upon our heads_.

Well, his duty was to protect the king, not to detain him from saying rash words. If protection was needed, his sword would be fast and just.  _I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown_ , he had sworn when taking his vows many years ago.

Unless…

_May the Seven bring you back safely, ser._

The voice of the queen echoed again in his mind. A sweet song of fear. As the light rain fell upon his head, Gwayne looked to the cloudy sky above.  _What if?,_  he wondered, feeling the raindrops kiss his skin. Three years ago, he had seen the lower lip of the queen red with blood, where the king had stricken her. It was a vivid memory. Aerys had accused the queen of laying with other men and had slapped her in a moment of rage. There was not a soul at court that didn't know the one sleeping outside marriage was him.

"That  _is the_ blood of the crown." Gwayne had taken no time sharing with the Lord Commander what he had seen. "Should we allow the king to do as he pleases with the queen?"

His cause was a hopeless one.

Ser Gerold had no comfort for him.

"But the true crown is upon whose head, ser?" He asked, peremptorily. "You are an honorable knight. But you shan't meddle in the matters that happen behind the royal bedchamber's door."

Gwayne had decided to be a knight the day his mother had been killed by his father. He was five-years-old, a scrawny boy and the youngest of five children, but he still remembered the pool of blood. The knife in the stomach of his Mother. His Father next to her, drunk, oblivious to his crime. The Septon at his village had said once that the man who fought for those unable to defend themselves was an honorable man, so he decided to become one of those men.

"Before swearing vows to the Crown, I swore holy vows to defend the weak, ser." He tried to argue with every argument that came to his mind, but yet again the Lord Commander reminded him that the white cloak on his back made him something more than a mere knight.

"You will lose your head if speak against the king." Ser Gerold said, kindly. "Your intentions are noble. The Seven Kingdoms need more men like you. But this is a cruel world, Ser Gwayne."

Making his peace with the Seven, Gwayne decided then to serve Queen Rhaella anyway he could, never betraying his king. It was a thin line to thread. Nevertheless, he was willing to do it, even if he had to serve her in secret, giving her little bits of comfort. But then, he had seen the hurt tormenting her body, right after the king forbade her to visit Prince Viserys.

It was then he had started to wonder.

_What if I were to fail my king?_

Those were danger thoughts he wouldn't dare speak out loud.

 _I shall pray for you to keep my husband safe_ , she had said after blessing him. He could still feel her breath, coming from the door. And the scent of her skin, sweet as flowers with a touch of rain.

_Her mouth uttered a prayer, but not her heart._

As the rain started pouring heavily, he gulped, putting his demons aside.

"The king is abed, Ser Gwayne." The squire said, his head appearing between the flaps of the tent. "You can come in."

* * *

The rain had stopped when Duskendale finally emerged on the horizon.

It was an ancient city, expanded many times since the days of the Hundred Kingdoms. The harbor was the great heart of Duskendale, with all the houses, warehouses, markets and septs built from that point onwards. Embracing it all was a wall of pale stone, that maintained the safety of the inhabitants of the port city. The gates were open to receive them, and the banners of the Darklyns flapped in the wind, the cloth wet and heavy due to the storm. Many septs' domes and turrets could be counted from afar, each one taller than the other, as they competed among themselves to reach the Seven Above. But rising above anything else was the square stone castle overlooking the port.

_Dun Fort._

Gwayne had visited the castle of House Darklyn once, long before being knighted. By then he was squiring to a hedge knight, accompanying him down the road, from castle to castle. He remembered the castle well enough, and the lad who had broken his nose after a quarrel to impress the lord's daughter. The very same man who was now waiting to greet them at the city's gates.

"Ser Jon Hollard, a knight sworn to House Darklyn," Gwayne whispered to the king's ear, as their party approached. Their entourage, with thirty soldiers wearing the Targaryen armor, was certainly an impressive sight. "And brother-in-law to Lord Denys."

The fucker had not only broken his nose.

He had also married the girl.

Jon Hollard recognized him too. An arrogant smile touched his lips as soon as he recognized Gwayne's crooked nose. He was a burly knight, a few inches taller than Gwayne, with reddish hair and a peculiar mustache above his upper lip. He was riding a stallion, maintaining a squire close at hand mounted on his own horse. A helmet with a long feather made him look ridiculous. Ten guardsmen, with shields and wearing chain mail hauberks, were right behind him.

"Your Grace." Ser Jon greeted, climbing down from his horse to kneel on the mud. The feather balanced ridiculously at the wind's will. "Lord Darklyn sent me on his behalf to welcome you to our city and escort you to the castle."

The king threw him an unpleasant glance.

"Then, what are you doing down in the mud?" Aerys retorted, coldly dismissing Hollard's bow. "I'm not here to lose time with a knight I have never heard about."

Jon Hollard stood upon his feet, and the arrogant smile was gone.

It was Gwayne's time to smirk.

And so they rode on to Dun Fort. It was clear the visit was not a joyful one. There were no flowers on the cobble street stones, no songs and praises as the king crossed the city or even children running behind the kinglanders. The streets and the market square seemed rather gloomy under the cloudy sky. On their way, Gwayne noticed a few guardsmen placed at the streets, making sure the city was secure and that no one would dare attempt something against the King.

A few merchants passed through, bowing their heads recognizing the three-headed-dragon on the banner leading the party. Many were also watching from their windows or doors, but rare was the ones courageous enough to get down to the street.

"They are afraid of me," Aerys whispered to Gwayne when they finally reached the castle's gates. He was glad people were hiding like sewer rats as if all were aware the Doom had finally come for them. "But they will cherish and call my name when we leave. I'm here to get rid of the witch."

_Are they afraid or are they angry?_

The stillness of a city like Duskendale – with a market and a port – was something rare to find. The horse hooves echoed through the cobblestone streets, joining the gulls calls above. Aerys climbed out of his mount as soon as they reached Dun Fort's courtyard. Gwayne followed quickly, going directly to the king's side while checking upon his own men through the gates. All thirty of them, clad in their dark armor with the dragon emblazoned in red on their breastplates, were already inside. They gathered orderly, delivering their horses to the boys from the castle's stable that came to their aid.

There were a few more Darklyn guardsmen inside the castle, as Gwayne expected. It was the Darklyn Seat, after all, so it was more than expected that their numbers surpassed the thirty men escorting the king. The Kingsguard counted at least another fifteen, standing at guard in different places: on the courtyard, on the battlements of the castle and the windows.

 _And there are certainly more_.

Not that there were many ways to escape if one proved necessary. They were obviously outnumbered. If something was to go amiss, it would be practically impossible to leave the castle without being detained by a guard. And even if by some miracle an escape was possible, they had still to flee from the city.

 _Things must go smoothly if we want to leave alive_ , he thought to himself, uneasily. The king seemed also aware of the guardsmen, counting them silently while stripping his riding gloves. His squire helped him remove the helmet. Yet, the king was far from nervous, as the squire opened the wooden box to give him the golden crown he had brought from the Red Keep. He was impatient, clearly displeased with the fact that Lord Denys had not received him by the gatehouse. But somehow, he was also confident. And willing to prove all of them who was the king.

_This is not the time to be petty._

The defiant lord of Duskendale was not far.

Lord Denys Darklyn was waiting by the castle's main entrance. He was a striking man, close to forty-years-old. He had long blond hair and striking blue eyes. Not a cold blue, but a dreamy shade of it, Gwayne noted. His skin was pale, almost as pale as the white stone of the city's walls. Beside his lady wife, he seemed a ghost. Lady Serala of Myr distinguished herself easily from the castle's garrison. She had darker skin than anyone else on the courtyard, and curly hair dark as obsidian. Her eyes, just like emeralds, glinted with curiosity at the king. There was a collar around her neck with a golden serpent.

 _The Witch_.

There were other Darklyns, bowing their heads alongside the lord and lady of the castle. Cilliad Darklyn, the younger brother of Lord Denys, was there, as well as his twin, Cedric. And, of course, Rahenna Darklyn, the wife of Ser Jon Hollard, the very same woman from whom Gwayne had stolen a kiss once upon a time. Her features were quite like the ones of her siblings. She had grown softer, maintaining her blond hair and pale skin. And there was a child in her arms, with eyes round as coins. A son, no more than three-years-old.

 _This was the life I could have had,_ he thought, feeling his heart tight.

Was it worry or regret? He shook his head.

No time for dreams.

The Darklyns – and some Hollards who were part of the welcoming entourage – kept bowing their heads as King Aerys approached.

"Your Grace." Lord Denys greeted, his nose still turned to the ground.

"Lord Denys Darklyn, it seemed your wish was granted." Aerys commenced, with a steely voice.

The Lord of Duskendale rose his face, curious.

"Your Grace?" He asked. Gwayne read some relief in his eyes.

Oh, but only if it was that easy.

"May the Seven take you, Lord Denys. Don't look at me that way." The king mocked, the coldness still enveloping his words. "You wished for my visit, so here I am. Just that for the moment."

"Oh, I see, Your Grace," Denys replied, more firmly this time. He was pale and could have a feeble look about him but was no fool. "I'm sure we will have time to discuss."

"Yes." The king, though, had already moved his eyes to Lady Serala.

"I believe you have met my wife previously, Your Grace." Denys intervened, gesturing toward the myrish woman. "Lady Serala of—"

"Am I here to negotiate with your wife?" Aerys asked, bluntly, his eyes descending to Lady Serala's dress. Gwayne gulped, noticing Lord Denys was well aware the king had his eyes on the lady's breast as if she was no more than a market cow.

"No, Your Grace." Responded Denys, clenching his teeth. "I deal with my own matters despite the ill rumors my people are spreading about my wife."

Lady Serala kept silent, but her eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Certainly," Aerys replied, returning his eyes to Lord Denys. "Rumors are just rumors, but sometimes they hide some truth. Well, but enough of this. I haven't traveled this far to be coldly greeted in your courtyard. Take me inside so we can talk." Aerys eyes moved to the row of Darklyns, Hollards and all the others still hoping to greet him. "Preferably not with your lot staring at me."

 _Rash words_ , Gwayne said, noticing Lord Denys was far from pleased. Even so, it seemed the Defiant Lord of Duskendale was not a man to fear. His words stammered when he didn't try to steady his voice and he glanced constantly to his wife from time to time. Could the rumors be true? According to gossip, the charter intrigue had started only because Lady Serala had planted seeds in her husband's mind. The Lace Serpent, the people called her.

"We can accommodate your men in the barracks." Lady Serala intervened, boldly, proving to have a voice of her own. "I have prepared beds for fifty men, Your Grace. And also food and wine. I suppose they must be weary after the storm."

Aerys exchanged a glance with Ser Gwayne.

"No," Aerys said, his eyes locked on his Kingsguard. "The men came to defend me and, until the matter is decided, they  _will_  stay at my side."

"Your Grace, that is pretty unnecessary." Lord Darklyn insisted. "You are our guest and—"

"Steel and flesh protect me better than bread and water, Lord Darklyn." Aerys retorted again. He glanced to the customary plate of bread and the glass of water carried by a little Darklyn girl. The guest right was offered to grant them protection, but the king had not moved to take it.

"You want to bring all your men while we talk, Your Grace?" Lord Denys asked, not making an effort to camouflage the sarcasm.

"Yes." The king replied, sternly. He touched the scabbard of the sword at his waist.

"There is no place for so many men in my private room."

"The Great Hall will do just fine," Aerys replied. "I wouldn't expect any less from a royal visit."

Denys smirked, again not hiding the sarcasm.

"Then, Your Grace, I shall bring my men too."

Aerys laughed, crossing his arms.

"You will do as your king commands."

Tension raised in the air.

Gwayne placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to pull it out if need be. Lord Denys' eyes noticed his movement, before facing again the king. While the two men faced themselves in a game of pride, light rain drops started to fall again. A child screamed somewhere close. A flock of gulls cried from the sky and, finally, Lord Denys opened his mouth again to cut through the tension.

"I'm afraid I can't do your bid, Your Grace." He insisted. "I must look out for my safety, as you must look after yours. I'm sure you understand."

"You dare refuse an order coming from your king?" Aerys asked. "After evading your duty to the Iron Throne? You are treading on thin ground here, Lord Denys."

"All I do, Your Grace, I do on behalf of my family." He replied, trying to be as humble as he could. There was no sarcasm. "I don't intend to offend you. I just want to make sure I'm still the lord under my own roof."

"I respect that." Aerys retorted. He was growing irritated by the rain. "But I don't appreciate your defiance, Lord Denys. Even so, I will allow that you bring fifteen men. Not even one more. If you don't accept such terms, I will leave, and no negotiation will be made."

"It is a sensible decision, Your Grace."

Ser Symon Hollard, the master-at-arms at Dun Fort, obliged immediately, gathering a small group of men. Jon Hollard was one of the knights who integrated the escort, bringing with him his squire, a nephew called Robin. Cilliad and Cedric Darklyn were also summoned, each one of them with longswords at their waists. All the other men were guardsmen, with lances on their hands and swords at their waists.

_Fifteen that fight for thirty._

Among the tumult of men being organized, Gwayne noticed Lady Serala whispering something into Lord Denys' ear. She had a wicked smile, he noticed, a smile just as twisted as the golden serpent on her throat. Lord Denys nodded, smiling nervously, before kissing her on the forehead.

"Shall we enter, Your Grace?" Denys asked, climbing the first steps.

The Great Hall was located deep inside the castle. Its windows overlooked the port and tapestries on the walls depicted scenes typical of a common day in Duskendale. Large chandeliers hung from the archway ceiling, casting the light of a dozen candles into the cold and obscure room. The entire place was surrounded by a superior gallery, from where it hanged more banners with the sigil of House Darklyn. A great table occupied the middle of the room, with a dais on the end opposite the entry door.

As they entered, the men with the Targaryen armor took their place around the hall, while the Duskendale entourage climbed the dais, forming a row behind the wooden chair of their lord. A servant brought wine, dragging a chair – not fit for a king, but a chair nonetheless – so that His Grace could take his place right across the dais.

As he positioned himself behind the king's chair, Gwayne checked again the pommel of his sword. Lord Denys had not even requested them to leave their weapons outside. The man knew such a battle would be a lost one.

"So, Lord Denys, I want to be quick about it, as I presume you do too." Aerys commenced, sipping from a glass of wine the servant had poured him. He was the only one drinking.

"Nothing in this world would bring more joy to my heart than to put this matter to rest, Your Grace." Lord Denys started, inclining himself forward in his chair. His twin brothers were siding him, and Ser Symon positioned right behind him. "Shall I start by presenting my proposal?"

"You may not," Aerys replied, looking directly to the lord across the room. "The matter is quite simple to me, Lord Denys. You are late paying your taxes. For the respect I nurture for House Darklyn and the welfare of the Crownlands, I'm willing to pardon you. Yours is a noble and ancient House. I certainly respect that, as my ancestors did."

There was a pause for a few moments. Some of the men in the dais moved on their feet, whispering something among themselves.

"Nevertheless," The king continued, considering his fingernails. "The law  _is_  the law, and I won't be gentle if no sense comes to your mind. You will pay what you are due to the Iron Throne, or I will deal with you as a traitor." His purple eyes glinted menacingly to the twins. "I hear your myrish woman has not given you any children." The Lord of Duskendale sniffed again, clenching his teeth. He didn't like the way his wife was being treated, even if Aerys was being benevolent. Gwayne recalled the names the king had called her on their way. Witch. Whore. Harlot. "I would be doing your brothers a favor if I were to sentence you to death. I bet one of those two right there would like to be lord in your stead."

The twins didn't say a word but exchanged a glance with one another. Denys didn't look at them at all, his eyes locked on the king and only him.

"You are indeed gentle, Your Grace." Lord Denys replied, after considering his words for a moment. "But I invited you here to tell you my proposal. At least, allow me to present it to you so you can make your final decision with all the information available. Besides, my request is rather reasonable. I'm sure you will consider it differently this time."

Aerys laughed again.

"You are bold than I thought you would be, Lord Denys." He said, amused by the challenge before him. "But the matter is decided."

Gwayne moved uncomfortably.

Should he say something to the king? Hearing a proposal couldn't do any harm.

"I  _must_  insist, Your Grace."

Aerys rolled his eyes.

"You insist a lot. I agreed you could bring your men, but I won't allow you to—"

"Before Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters landed on the Seven Kingdoms, Duskendale bloomed thanks to his commerce." Lord Denys had no shame interrupting the king. Aerys stood with his mouth open midsentence for a few seconds.

"How dare you defy me?" He screamed, angrily.

But the Lord of Duskendale was indeed becoming a defiant one.

"Our port was one of the greatest in the East Shore." Denys continued, standing on both his feet. "Our roads led to the domains of the Storm Kings, the Kings of the Rock and the Gardeners of the Reach, long before the dragons came from across the Narrow Sea. Carriages with spices, silks, and jewels left our city to return carrying piles of gold.

"But when the dragonking came, our splendor suffered a hard blow, Your Grace. The old men in my family still repeat to the future generations the tale of Visenya Targaryen, and how she took our city and most of our treasure. We bent the knee, and our House swore allegiance to House Targaryen, but with the promise that we were free to trade and replenish the gold that had been taken from us to help the cause of Aegon the Conqueror.

"With our gold, a city was built in the following decades close to the Blackwater Rush. King's Landing. The walls that surround it, the fortress King Maegor started to build and even the roads paved after the orders of King Jaehaerys I were all paid with our gold. Our treasure shaped the new city and the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.

"However, the promise that Visenya Targaryen made to my ancestors was broken by the time King Aenys I came upon the Iron Throne. The same tariffs imposed to any other city of the Crownlands were applied to us and, once again, my people obliged. The crown needed our gold, and we were willing to pay it. As decades became centuries, King's Landing grew. Most of the traffic we had on our ports was forever lost. The carriages filled with gold became rarer and rarer. Many ships stop docking in our port, navigating swiftly to the capital. Duskendale, the great city of the Eastern Shore, started to falter and King's Landing was the one to blame."

The king had grown silent, but he was not pleased. Gwayne could sense his anger as if the blood of the dragon was simmering in his veins.

"This is why, Your Grace, I ask only for what is just." Denys finished, opening his arms. "I beg you to honor Princess Visenya's word.  _Your_ ancestor's word. By allowing Duskendale a charter, we would be free from the tariffs imposed by the Iron Throne. We could sell again and sell a lot more without any restriction. We could use the gold to restore the greatness of this city. And I'm not even asking you for a permanent charter, Your Grace. I'm humble enough to request it only for a decade or so, enough time for us to replenish our coffers."

Denys snapped his fingers and a maester moved from among the guardsmen behind him. The young man had a roll of parchment in his hand, as well as a flask of ink and a quill.

"This is a moving story, Lord Denys," Aerys said, controlling his words. The maester approached slowly, afraid of the expression transforming the king's face. "But I never heard of such a promise."

"My Maester can show you the document Princess Visenya signed, Your Grace." He said. "I beg you to mend a broken promise. Sign your name by Queen Visenya's signature and grant us our freedom."

The king received the roll of parchment and opened it slowly. From his place, Gwayne saw what seemed to be indeed very old writing. A dragon had been drawn on the side, with little touches of green and gold. In the end, something was signed. Something that resembled a lot like the word Visenya.

"Visenya Targaryen." The king read, very slowly. His voice had changed, Gwayne noticed. He was no longer concealing the dragon behind an armor of gallantry. He was ready to burn the Darklyns. His fingers grasped the pommel of his word once again. "This is indeed intriguing, Lord Denys. I should consult with the maesters from the Citadael to verify the authenticity of this parchment, but time is of the essence and…" The sound of paper being ripped apart echoed in the room as if the ground was breaking itself under their feet. "An old word from Visenya Targaryen, written almost three-hundreds-years ago? It means  _nothing_  today. Besides, did you know my line descends not from Visenya, but  _Rhaenys_? I don't owe anything to bloody Visenya. Her line was the one that gave us Maegor the Cruel, and no one else. I must, however, maintain my duty to the realm."

Lord Denys' smile was gone.

"I'm afraid I can't accept your terms, Your Grace."

"Then we are still at odds, Lord Denys," Aerys said, standing up. "I gave you a chance to make it right. I was willing to forgive you and spare your House from blood and discord. Let it be known I offered mercy for your crime. But you have scorned my offer." When the king pointed a finger to the Lord of Duskendale, Gwayne knew what was about to happen. He readied his sword. "You two." He said, talking directly to the Darklyn twins siding Denys Darklyn. "The first of you to hand me Lord Denys in chains will be the new Lord of Duskendale."

This was a turning point.

Gwayne looked instinctively to the twins' eyes.

The play made by the King had caused confused them. Greediness overlapped loyalty in Cedric's eyes. Cilliad Darklyn placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder as if willing to obey. Perhaps they were truly willing to sacrifice him to the Iron Throne, to get rid of his wife and have a chance to step out of the shadows. It was a cruel ploy, turning brother against brother, but the Targaryen history was the living proof that it could change the course of the world.

Darklyns, even so, were not Targaryens.

"We are not that kind of family, Your Grace." Lord Denys replied, standing up. A sad smile crossed his lips, all hope crushed. "Don't make this harder than it is. Accept my proposal and—"

"I have heard enough of  _you_!" Aerys screamed, again. He unsheathed the sword at his waist. "Ser Gwayne, bring me Lord Denys. I will execute him under his own roof for being a traitor and I wish to do it myself."

On the dais, Symon Hollard took a step forward, placing himself before his lord. Gwayne had also grabbed the pommel of his sword and commanded five of his men to step forward, building a human wall between the king and the dais. He was too focused on what was happening below to consider the movement above.

"Any men willing to defend a traitor is a traitor himself." The king roared, pointing his sword onwards. "I will wipe out the Darklyns out of this world if needed."

"I don't believe you will, Your Grace." It was Symon Hollard the one replying now. He nodded to someone and just like that everything started to go amiss.

An arrow was fired from the gallery, finding its way to the eye of one of the Targaryen guards. The bloody idiot had the visor of his helmet opened. The guard was dead when his body clashed against the floor. The sound of swords being unsheathed echoed immediately through the Great Hall. Gwayne pulled the sword out of its scabbard, turning his eyes to the gallery above them.

Six archers were placed on the banisters, observing quietly. Their arrows were on place, ride to fire. And all of them were pointed to the king. Aerys himself, Gwayne noticed, seemed aghast.

Was the dragon feeling trapped at last?

"Don't take any other step." Lord Denys claimed, his voice trembling. "Or else the next arrow will target the king's eye."

Gwayne looked again around him.

Nine archers, after all. Three more had come from a door hidden behind a tapestry. None of them would be able to fire to the king's chest but, unfortunately, Aerys had replaced his helmet for his crown. An arrow could easily meet his head and end him, just like the guard laying on the floor.

The order had only to be given.

"Are you threatening your king, Darklyn?" The King asked, a vein popping in his head.

_If an arrow doesn't kill him, the fury in his heart will._

"I'm fighting for my people, Your Grace."

Gwayne remained still, his eyes moving all around the room, trying to find an escape somehow.

"You are a fool, Darklyn." Aerys continued. "And your dreams of greatness will only bring doom to your family."

Lord Denys sniffed, considering the menace for a few seconds.

"Give me the charter, and I will let you go."

"I would rather die."

Denys turned his head, whispering something to his master-at-arms.

"Surrender your swords, all of you, or I will not spare your king," Symon said.

Gwayne looked at his guards, who were looking back at him.

_I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown._

Slowly, Ser Gwayne lowered his sword. His men followed him. Ser Symon advanced forward, as two other guards ready their weapons.

"I won't be taken as prisoner," Aerys muttered, furious. "I won't let  _him_  have the last laugh."

Somehow, Gwayne knew the king was not referring to Lord Denys, but to the Hand who had counseled him not to come to Duskendale.

 _The fool will not surrender_ , he realized, noticing how the king was wielding his sword, ready to cut down the first man that approached him. This could very well be the end.  _The king will die on my duty, but I won't have blood on my hands_. No, that was a lie. He knew that was a lie. If the king wasn't stopped, blood would be spilled.

 _I will pray for you to keep my husband safe_.

He closed his eyes just for a fraction of a second, and then wielded his sword.

"Follow my lead, Your Grace."

The king could die. Or he could survive. Even so, as a Kingsguard, he had to try or die trying. He wouldn't break his holy vow, no matter how much he wanted to free his queen. Signaling the guards to come to his aid, he pushed the king to the floor and threw himself on top of him. The king's sword slid across the floor, just as it did his crown, both lost among the fighting already happening by the dais.

Arrows fell from the gallery instantly, was he knew they would, but his armor and body shielded the king. One of them managed to pierce his left underarm, finding its way between the armor. A shot of pain made him grit his teeth, as the warmness of blood trickled beneath the chainmail.

"Don't leave my side, Your Grace." He whispered to the king. Aerys was agitated, though, screaming words Gwayne refused to listen. He squirmed beneath him, trying to release himself.

As four Targaryen guards came finally to Gwayne's aid, he heard the clash of steel. He raised his face, to see the men charging down from the dais, with their swords and lances raised. The visor of his helmet was a small one, but enough for him to see Symon Hollard instructing the Darklyn guards.

"Shield the king!" Gwayne yelled the order to his own men.

His guards turned their backs to him and gathered around him in a circle, shielding him and the king with their bodies. They were fighting already the first men headed toward them. Gwayne stood up, finally releasing the king and help him on his feet.

"What are you doing?" Aerys asked him, screaming. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm saving your life, Your Grace." He said, his eyes away from the king's face. The pain under his arm was nothing but a nuisance. He had to try to reach the door.  _An escape will be impossible,_  a voice reminded him on the back of his mind. Yes, but he had to try. He removed his helmet and placed it on the king's head. "This will protect you."

Keeping hold of the king's arm with his left hand and wielding his sword with the right, Gwayne started moving to the door. The guards understood his movement, following his steps like a dance. Arrows continued raining down from the gallery, and one of them almost hit his head, but he averted them.  _Maybe the Seven are blessing me for keeping my vows_. Slowly, he continued moving toward the Great Hall's door.

Jon Hollard and five guards barred his way.

"A broken nose was not enough for you, was it, Ser Noisey?" He provoked, bringing down his sword to the guard leading the way.

Their little group was surrounded. At least eleven men, all clad with the Darklyn colors, were fighting the four guards shielding the king. A few smaller skirmishes were happening among the Hall, but every sword was trying to get to the king one way or another. An arrow grazed through his cheek, slicing it.

"I will burn this castle to the ground!" Yelled the king, right behind him. "I will burn the entire city!"

 _We will never survive,_  he thought bitterly, as the guard fighting Jon Hollard fell with an arrow buried in his skull.

"A Kingsguard hiding beneath another man? It doesn't surprise me coming from you, ser." Jon Hollard provoked yet again, raising his sword.

Gwayne jumped over the dead man, stopping the attack and replying with another. Behind him, the three guards left continued fighting, closing their ranks on the king. Aerys' screams continued ringing above the song of steel.

"I don't  _hide_." He answered, clashing his sword. "And when I fight my foe, I fight him on my own." Gwayne averted a strike made by a Darklyn soldier that had come to help Hollard bring him down.

A scream behind him made Gwayne turned his head.

The human shield was broken, he noticed. One of the guards was dead and the other two had been brought to his knees. The king was at the hands of Darklyn's soldiers, who had already removed the helmet and threw it away. And Aerys screamed as if his yells alone could save the entire Seven Kingdoms.

That distraction was enough for Hollard to disarm him. The clash of steel on the floor sounded like thunder, as he realized his sword was gone from his hand.

"Any last words?"

Before Ser Gwayne could do anything else, he felt the feeble hands of the king behind him, trying to grab him by his waist. His captors got hold of him quickly and pulled him away. Three knights and Jon Hollard's squire.

The point of Jon's sword kissed Gwayne's neck.

He spat on his opponent face.

"Don't be a bloody fool, Jon." Ser Symon said, coming from behind. "We need prisoners, and this one here is worth a lot."

When Jon peeked from the corner of his eye to check upon Ser Symon, Gwayne kicked him between the legs with all the strength he had. Taking hold of the moment, he grabbed the sword by the blade and turned it in his hand quickly enough to grasp the pommel.

He had to get to the king to try to stop this madness.

Arrows continued to fly down to stop the men wearing the Targaryen colors. A few of them, at least half a dozen, had given up their swords willingly and knelt on the floor. Another handful of them was dead, laying with their throws ripped apart or with arrows on their heads. Pools of blood stained the stone slabs. The remainder were either fighting Darklyn guards or trying to reach the king.

Aerys had been taken to the dais. The king of the Seven Kingdoms was been played around like a toy by lords, knights, and even squires. They laughed as he yelled. There was a painful tone in his words, as well as threats to burn them down, and madness. Robin Hollard, the little squire, was pulling the king's beard while dancing around him. Another knight was ripping apart his tunic. Other had the royal crown upon his temples. The golden rings of the king were being passed from hand to hand.

This was unacceptable, a violation of what was most sacred.

Gwayne started marching toward the dais, raising his sword.

_I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown._

He was going to die, but first, he would at least kill Denys Darklyn. The Lord of Duskendale was laughing while observing the macabre spectacle.

A sword clashed against Gwayne's.

Ser Symon had read his heart and had come from nowhere.

"Lay down your sword, ser Gwayne. You don't have to die."

Gwayne replied by striking his sword, aiming for Ser Symon's neck. He missed, surprisingly enough. Up until that point, he had not noticed his body was failing him. But yes, he had lost a lot of blood thanks to the wound in his left arm. He only remembered that when he realized his hands were shaking.

"No." He said, not giving up. "I made a vow and I will die before breaking it."

"Then, you are of no use to us, ser." Ser Symon had stopped every attack gracefully and had not attacked back. Not even once. But pity touched his eyes, as well as the will to finish him.

It was a quick death.

It started with pain when the Symon's blade shattered Gwayne's head. It pierced through his right eye, destroying half of his head in a single blow. Half of the world turned dark instantly, as his knees fell beneath him. Something warm trickled down his face.  _Like tears of fire,_ he thought,  _or rain kisses_. And then everything vanished, and the yells of the king faded. The laughter of the lords gave place to the song of birds.

 _May the Seven bring you back safely, ser,_ she had said, sweetly.

It seemed he would fail her, but as he died, he smiled.

He died as a knight should die.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a long chapter. I told you. 17 pages and more than 7000 words! But it was the main moment of the Defiance, so it had to be long. I promise the next ones will be shorter. While preparing for his chapter, I considered many details regarding the Defiance. We know Aerys decided to travel on his own to defy Tywin Lannister, that he took with him Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the Kingsguard and that he died at the hands of Symon Hollard. We also know the royal entourage had a few men to defend the king. So, I concocted this whole chapter. It was not easy, but I'm proud of the result. I read it thrice before updating it. So, let me know what you think. Until next time.


	10. Rhaella II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything else, I want to apologize. I received a few messages concerning the relationship between Cersei and Jaime in this fanfiction since they are eleven-year-old. According to what we know from ASOIAF, the Lannisters twins started exploring when they were children. In my mind, I somehow depicted them as older than they were when writing close scenes between the two. So, I apologize if it hurt someone, or even disgusted. The chapters have been updated and such graphic scenes removed. In the future, I will consider this matter with high regard and be more careful. I'm sorry, and I hope you can still read and enjoy this fanfiction.
> 
> The Defiance will diverge from canon. You must be patient for a few more chapters and, in the meanwhile, be attentive to the details. I have plotted the entire story so far. Some chapters in the middle are still requiring a bit of planning, and the end has still some loose points that shall be polished. You will start seeing in the next chapter how the divergence will happen.
> 
> The story, if nothing changes, will be composed of seven parts and around sixty to seventy chapters. Perhaps even more. But this Part II about the defiance sets the whole stage for the fanfic… But not how you expect.

 

* * *

**RHAELLA II**

**277 AC**

The golden dragons gleamed in the candlelight.

Queen Rhaella could still remember the day Aerys had chosen his crown. It was the day after their Father's death. The bells tolled through the city, the royal procession to the Great Sept of Baelor was being prepared, but Aerys insisted on visiting the royal treasury to pick his crown. And he wanted her by his side.

"It is beautiful, yes." Rhaella had said while holding his arm. Her mind was foggy, a storm of grief for the Father she had just lost. "But it is a heavy crown to bear."

It was an elegant thing, not a war crown like the one of Maekar's that their Father had to choose. No, this one was made of red gold, huge and heavy, with dragons at its points. It had gemstones where the eyes of the creatures should be. Aerys had always loved pretty things, so it was no surprise that his eyes caught this ancient crown. Even so, the king who had first bear it had provoked a war on his deathbed. Was it a good omen to choose the crown of Aegon the Unworthy?

"That's precisely why I want it. Such a glorious crown must have its story rewritten." Aerys explained, taking it from the royal treasure chest. The smile on his lips was one of triumph. "I will give it a new story, Rhaella. One worthy to be sung across the Seven Kingdoms."

 _But_   _he failed,_ Rhaella thought bitterly, laying her eyes again on the very same crown.  _Even_   _the gemstones are gone_. The dragons around the golden ringlet were eyeless, stripped from the stones. One of the dragons had even lost its head, nicked off by some greedy traitor.  _Just like it happened to Gwayne_ , she thought with her heart tight. The Kingsguard had left with her blessing, but only his head had returned in a wooden box, enveloped in his white cloak. More than a message from Lord Darklyn, it was a sign of defiance. All respect was gone, all sense of loyalty.

Rhaella gulped, averting her eyes from the crown on the table.

It was a cruel sight.

"The squire brought the crown _and_  a message." Tywin continued somberly from his place at the head of the table. He raised a bit of parchment. The seal with the arms of the Darklyns had been broken. "I couldn't wait for the morrow to share this grievous news. Rumors will surely have spread through the city by that time. Dark words run like wind. We need to act swiftly to prevent the wound festering."

It was the hour of the wolf.

Night enveloped the Red Keep in a mantle of darkness. The storm was gone, but the wind still pressed against the windows, carrying a chill that teased a cold winter. Nevertheless, a small retinue of people gathered in the Small Council's room, all of them with their hair disheveled and stern looks on their faces.

The Hand of the King had been notified just an hour before the arrival of the king's squire. A kind young man called Edwin Hayford. It seemed the boy had ridden down Rosby Road at a hasty pace, with terror in his eyes and grim news upon his sleeve. He had been the only one allowed to leave Dun Fort by Denys Darklyn. The remainder were either dead or rotting in the cells like prisoners. Under the cover of darkness, the boy had been taken straight away to the Tower of the Hand and from there Tywin had sent his summons for an emergency meeting.

"You may read it out loud, Lord Tywin," Rhaegar said, standing quietly by the window. He had been pacing around the room, with an expression hard and gaunt upon his face. Being the Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Throne, he had also been summoned. The weight suddenly dropped on his shoulders was excruciating. It was no surprise that the news of his Father imprisonment had left him uneasy. He was trying to hide it underneath a mask of grace, but Mothers can see their children by what they are.

 _And Tywin understands what this means for him_ Rhaella had noted to herself, as soon as her own son had come to wake her.  _Praise the Seven for bringing him back in time._  It was mere luck he had returned from his expedition to the ruins of Summerhall.

"Your Grace, the Queen should be protected from such dark and bloody details—" Grand Maester Pycelle insisted, from his chair down the table. "The details of the king's imprisonment can be—"

 _Old pissing fool_ , Rhaella thought bitterly, twisting the handkerchief between her fingers. He didn't care for her. Not truly. She still remembered pretty well Pycelle had not brought her word of his son whereabouts when she had asked for it.  _He just doesn't respect me_. It was not typical for a queen to attend the Small Council's meetings- She was only there because Rhaegar had insisted on bringing her. That proved he was so much different from his Father already, or those old fools that served the Realm.

"My Father has been taken, Grand Maester," Rhaegar said, sternly. It was clear from the spark in his eyes that the matter was not up for discussion. "The message is grim, but my Mother is entitled to hear the truth and be part of the Council Meeting as much as I."

Rhaella sniffed, wiping again a tear that streamed down her face.

"I know I must seem frail to you, my lords." She could read the antipathy on their faces. A weeping woman in their midst. "But must I remind you I'm the blood of the dragon too?" Her nails clawed into the soft myrish fabric of her handkerchief. "I may have a gentle heart, but my duty doesn't falter when the Realm demands my effort. Lord Denys has my husband. Do you expect me to stay in my chambers dedicating myself to prayer and embroideries? I have a duty as a wife, as a mother and as your  _Queen_. If my son wants me to stay, I will stay."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Pycelle mumbled, his eyes resting briefly on the handkerchief in her hands. The judgment in his eyes made her shiver.

 _But I don't fear him. I can't fear him_.

A few years before, she had been the Queen at the Red Keep. The servants were not only spying her, but they also spied for her. Her ladies made her company and songs filled her halls. She had lost all of it, thanks to Aerys' paranoia.  _But maybe this is a blessing in disguise_ , she assumed. It was the only silver lining among all this weary news. Her heart ached for the loss of her ally, and the consequences her husband's imprisonment might have, but her chains had been released. She had to make the best of the time that had been given to her.

 _If only they allow me_ , she reminded herself, glancing down the table.

Besides Lord Tywin and Grand Maester Pycelle, there were four more men in the room. Lord Qarlton Chelsted, serving as Master of Coin, had never cared for her. He was a craven little lord, with his long nose usually in his account books and his white hair locked in a ponytail.  _The mace-and-dagger Hand,_ a few called him after his sigil. He was constantly praising Aerys, trying to gain more favor in court. Probably setting his eyes on Tywin's chair.

Lord Lucerys Velaryon, the Master of Ships, had inherited the silver hair of his family, but not the purple eyes. His eyes were golden ones and matched the smile always ready in his lips. It was the reason why the court had named him the Bright Seahorse of the Driftmark. He was a gallant gentleman, prone to debauchery, but talented in maneuvering the ships under his command. In fact, that was the reason why he occupied the office. When Aerys had asked House Velaryon to send the most talented navigator of their family, he had been the answer.

Old Lord Alarrik Cargyll, a man of seventy-two, held the position of Master of Whispers. He had been appointed by her Father and had kept his seat during Aerys' reign. However, lately his wit was getting foggy and some of the news that reached him were sometimes confusing.  _Or he was the one interpreting them wrongly_. The whispers of danger surrounding the king had been inserted in her husband's mind greatly because of that man. Yet, being the last of his House, there was a reluctance in dispensing him from his duty.

And, of course, there was also the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Despite being already more than fifty, he still carried the stature that had granted him the recognition of White Bull. He was a tall one, with very large shoulders and a wide chest. The white hair and beard complemented his portent.  _Wise and strong, but also kind_. He was rather serious, perhaps even more than all the others. Losing a king and a sworn brother was a heavy blow.

The empty chair belonged to Lord Symond Staunton, the Master of Laws. According to Rhaegar, the lord was away on Rook's Rest. His daughter had given birth to twins, and he had left the city for a few weeks to be with his family.

"I will read the letter, then," Tywin said when silence settled again. He was growing impatient, as his voice denounced. The Lion of Casterly Rock was not known for waiting idly.

_And he expects everyone dance to his tune now._

"Read on, please." Rhaegar agreed, turning his back to the council members. He focused again on the view outside the window as if worried that the sleeping city was soon to rise and march against the Red Keep.

" _To Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King to Aerys Targaryen The Second of His Name, and all members of the Royal House_." He paused again, considering the words. Darklyn could be a madman and a traitor for his actions, but he knew the King and his Hand were at odds of lately. That was why he directed the message to him. " _The King is a prisoner of Duskendale_."

 _Prisoner._ The lively brother, the harsh husband, the king that was also her goaler. It was hard to imagine him incarcerated, locked in some damp room. Even so, he was alive.

" _We have greeted His Grace under our roof to request a trade charter. Unfortunately, such a request was denied to our proud city once again_." Tywin proceeded in his cold voice. " _Thus, Duskendale is forced to break its fealty to the Iron Throne from this day onwards._   _We have no vile intentions, and we don't want war. We just want to proceed with our lives and be free to trade without taxes for the next fifteen years, until our coffers are replenished once again. By then, and only then, will we free the King_." All around the table, the lord counselors moved nervously, but Rhaella didn't flinch. " _Recognize our right, or else the king suffers. Accept our terms, and the king will get the comfort that is appropriate for his position. March against our city and the king dies. We may hold the dagger, but don't fool yourself: you are the one giving the command._ " Tywin tossed the parchment roll down and his nostrils flared in fury. "It is signed by Lord Denys Darklyn."

"The Darklyn lord has truly gone mad," Qarlton concluded, outrage singing in his frail voice. "Such  _bold_  remarks. It seems he doesn't fear the Throne."

"A man becomes mad when he loses his fear." Lord Lucerys added, enigmatically. A smile flashed in his lips. "At least, that was the counsel a lady gave me one night."

Tywin ignored both and beckoned forward to say something else. Nevertheless, the Grand Maester also wanted his time to share his bit.

"But what could Lord Denys truly hope to achieve with such a dreadful act?" The old maester asked, scratching his chin. His eyes were heavy with sleep. "Mistreating the king under his own roof! It's outrageous, the utmost crime to Men and Gods. He can't certainly hope an optimistic outcome for these severe crimes."

"I find it odd, indeed." Qarlton was not done either. His eyes turned to Lord Alarryk, who seemed ready to doze off back to sleep. "His wife poisoned his mind. The whispers flying from Duskendale tell us about this myrish witch—"

"A myrish  _whore_." Retorted Alarrik, with his slow voice. He shook his head immediately, noticing the alarming expression on Lord Qarlton's face. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for using such improper words, but I do firmly believe the woman dwells in the pleasure trade—"

Rhaella shook her head, letting him know everything was alright.

"Strange. I heard she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant." Lucerys shoot back, stirring the pot. "Would a wealthy merchant sell her daughter to the streets? That is not very fatherly of him."

"It doesn't matter what she is." Qarlton insisted, raising his weak voice. "The creature has surely enchanted the man's heart. Lord Denys must be blind. A merciful outcome for the utmost treachery this world knows won't be enough for him."

"Gold can often make people desperate." Lucerys resumed, smiling again. "And Lord Darklyn was right in one thing. Duskendale has lost its splendor since the conquest. We have to give him  _that_."

 _They talk, they wonder, but they don't say anything at all_ , Rhaella noted, aghast. A Kingsguard was dead. Soldiers from the Houses of the Crownlands were imprisoned. And the King himself was wasting in a cell. However, these men danced around the topic that truly mattered, never touching it at all.

"Lord Denys dreams of the days of old." Rhaegar intervened, finally pushing a chair by Rhaella's side. "And who can judge him for that?"

Tywin looked to the prince from across the table and nodded just briefly.

"Indeed." He acknowledged. "The Darklyns were the petty kings of Duskendale before Aegon the Conqueror forged the Seven Kingdoms under one single crown. No doubt the Darklyns still hear the stories of how great the city was before Aegon and his sisters came. They are not the only ones. Men dream, they dream of days gone by… And the Darklyns undoubtedly dream of the time when their House was a royal one and could do as it pleased."

"Hum." Grand Maester mused. "Yes, the days of the Hundred Kingdoms are still remembered by many… But almost three hundred years passed since then, my lord of Lannister."

Annoyance carved again the expression on Tywin's face.

"Yet, the question now is not  _why_ , my lords, is it?"

The lords around the table nodded compliantly, muttering something to themselves. It was Rhaegar the one expressing what was on their mind.

"How will we get my Father back, then?"

The Hand of the King managed a weak smile of approval, before resuming. Nevertheless, Rhaella knew him well enough to know the question placed was not the right one. It was a close call, yes, but it was not the one on Tywin's mind.

"Yes, what can  _we_  do?" Tywin asked, gloomily again, his eyes moving quickly to each one of the advisors. They seemed suddenly out of words. The Hand reclined in his chair, sighing. His nostrils flared dangerously. "If we don't act quickly, people will start to wonder if the Iron Throne is able to ensure order. And all of you know what follows next" He paused, moving again his cold green eyes to Rhaegar. "Insurrection. To stop it in time, I suggest we deal with the matter brutally, an act that sends a message across the Realm."

Rhaella instantly looked again to the broken crown before Tywin.

Defiance by some small lord proved House Targaryen was losing his hold over the threads of power. The dragons were no more, not the ones that breathed fire and made the skies their kingdoms. Aegon and his sisters had united the land with fire and blood, but the only dragons that remained now had no such power. The Targaryens were mere men, mortals like any other and even them were almost extinct. No wonder Rhaegar dreamed his great-grandfather's dreams, reminiscing about the old days, about dragons and prophecies. About the glory, they had lost and never recovered.

"But the king's life is at stake here, my lord." Ser Gerold Hightower intervened for the first time. "Lord Darklyn threatened to murder the king if the city is attacked. You can't certainly expect—"

Tywin opened his mouth, but he wasn't looking to the Lord Commander. His eyes remained set on the prince.

"Ser Gerold puts forward a valid point, my prince." He said, always so astute. "But the dog that barks does not bite. Lord Denys is a fool and has dug his own grave by committing treason. He surely believes he has got his hands wrapped around a big old bone, but he will choke on it. It's only a matter of time. Allowing him to do as he pleases, will only enlighten our weaknesses. It would be a matter of time before other lords started defying the authority of House Targaryen."

"A trap, like just Lord Tywin said." Seeing the doubt flickering in her son's eyes, Rhaella had no choice but to intervene. Rhaegar was still innocent and learning the secrets of power. The struggle inside him was clear: his Father or the Realm. "Lord Denys has the upper hand here, my son. As much as we want to bring your Father back, we must not play into Darklyn's game."

Lord Qarlton frowned as if wondering what she could know about such matters.

"You argue for a bold proposal, Lord Tywin, yet…" it was Lord Alarryk the one voicing his thoughts now. "I still recall that when Casterly Rock seized Walderran Tarbeck as a hostage so he could answer for his debts, you exchanged him as soon as Lady Ellyn seized three of your Lannister cousins. It sounds rather convenient, my Lord Hand, that you have such a disregard for the king's life when rumors at court say the two of you are at odds."

Once again, the animosity between Aerys and Tywin came to the surface. Gracefully, the Hand of the King shook his head and spoke with poise and control.

"Yes, I advised my Father to return Lord Walderran to his wife at Tarbeck Hall." He said. "But cut in three pieces, one for each Lannister Lady Ellyn had as a hostage." He continued, with his voice hardening. "Unfortunately. my Father had a soft heart and an even lighter head and succumbed to the pressure. The people's laughter at Lannisport that day made me defy my own Father not much later and solve the matter once and for all. I do believe you have heard a silly song about it?"

Lucerys laughed, and Rhaella couldn't control the shadow of a smile.

"You seem to forget, though, what we are talking about the king's life, not about a Lannister one." Qarlton intervened again, backing up old Alarryk. "Royal blood."

"No. We are talking about power, Lord Qarlton." Tywin retorted immediately. "As I said, we could grant the bloody charter to get the king back. But the Throne would still pay for it, and not only with laughter. Is that what  _you_  want?"

Lord Qarlton was prepared to reply – and by the looks of his face the conversation might turn really ugly – but Rhaegar still conflicted, stepped forward.

"I understand your point of view, Lord Tywin." He said, his eyes resting on the accursed crown on the table. "And I respect you. You suggest storming the gates and conquer the city. Am I right, my lord?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Tywin replied, bluntly. "Lord Denys would be taken by surprise by an attack. Quickly enough, we would have him trying to negotiate his life and the future of his House by negotiating terms of peace. I'm sure he wouldn't kill the king, no... A hostage with royal blood has no use to him if he is dead. The king's life would be the only currency he would have left to buy his own future and that of his family."

"His wife is a myrish harlot and witch." Qarlton intervened again, ignoring completely that the queen was in the room. "Have you forgotten her, my lords? She has no regard for a westerosi king. To her, the king is just another man. And she is the one controlling Lord Denys with her spells. She could kill His Grace without a second thought."

"You seem pretty sure about this myrish witch and her spells, my lord." Lucerys jested. "Perhaps you have tasted her charms to be so sure that—?"

"How dare you?" Qarlton yelled, banging his fist on the table. He spat all over the table. "I'm an honorable man!"

"Let us not disperse, my lords." Tywin retorted angrily, raising his voice once again. Silence was set in an instant. "All of us should be now aware the king's life is at risk. In fact, all of us  _knew_ – including the king – when the Small Council advised him to refuse Darklyn's invitation. Nevertheless, His Grace chose to go by himself."

"We still should do anything on our reach to return His Grace safely. We could send a small and discreet group of men to rescue the king." Ser Gerold interrupted, his voice loud enough to echo through the room. Tywin lips pressed themselves into a thin line.

"A possibility I was wondering myself," Rhaegar admitted, exchanging a glance with Ser Gerold.

"We could consider it." Tywin agreed, his voice slower now. "But such a plan has risks of its own. Impregnate Duskendale's walls, infiltrate Dun Fort, locate the king and flee the city under darkness… It would be a suicide mission, my lord. We would be risking more men, placing them on a ground we don't know as well as our enemy and inside a walled city. If the king's escape were to be found out, Denys wouldn' hesitate to toll the bells and install chaos in the city. Everyone would be looking for the king and, probably, Lord Darklyn would give a command to capture the king again or kill him. The king could die with an arrow on his back or be accidentally killed while fleeing…"

"What if a distraction was provoked on our gates?" Rhaegar had given a thought or two to the plan, it seemed. A spark of hope sang in his voice. "We could send a man or two inside the city. Not many, thus preventing a bloody end if something were to go amiss. However, while the rescue was happening, we could gather a small force outside the gates just to intimidate Lord Denys and call his attention elsewhere."

"A bold plan, Your Grace." Agreed Lord Qarlton. "It could work—"

"A desperate plan, unfortunately." Tywin retorted, more sternly than ever. "You are concurring to what I'm suggesting, my prince. We would  _still_ storm the gates, after all. By setting this plan into motion, we would only be adding risks to it. Why would we send a rescue mission, when we could simply take the city and show the strength of our army? We are not cowards. Our men are not rats to infiltrate a city and remove a king through the sewers. We should invade Duskendale, break its gates and taught a lesson about justice."

Rhaegar raised his right hand to his temple, veiling his eyes.

 _He just wants his Father back_ , Rhaella understood.  _A crown in his head will only shatter his dreams, and he still has many dreams to dream._

Rhaella extended a hand under the table, grabbing her son's knee to show some support.

"Your Grace, you are eighteen." Tywin resumed, perceiving the conflict in Rhaegar's head. "At your age, I had already fought on the War of the Ninepenny Kings and was preparing myself to deal with the Tarbecks and Reynes. One day you will sit on the Iron Throne, and – whatever we may say as your advisors – the last word will be yours."  _Perhaps sooner than we thought_ , Rhaella said to herself with a heavy heart. "Since the King is amiss, I still believe the ultimate decision should be yours today if the Small Council agrees."

Rhaegar lowered his hand immediately, revealing his glinting eyes. His hand went instead to hers, still holding his knee. Since no lord spoke against the suggestion placed by Lord Tywin, the Hand gladly went forward.

"How would you like to deal with the matter, Your Grace?"

Rhaegar looked across the table, and all the fear that had been right there just a second before was gone. Resolution gleamed in his eyes.

"I'm no king, my lords, but I'm glad you can give me your trust." He said. "I pray the Seven grant my Father many years to live. He has been exhausted lately, but his dreams of greatness – even though different from mine – can truly lead the Realm to a prosper future." He paused once again, turning his eyes to his Mother. Rhaella smiled a teary smile. The emotions were again taking hold of her poor heart. Seeing her son speaking like a king, being already so much humble than his Father, filled her with joy. No, perhaps not joy. Relief was a more appropriate word. "As a son, I long for my Father's safety. But as the Prince of Dragonstone, I have a duty to the Realm." He stopped and grabbed Rhaella's hand again, this time before all the others. "But storming Duskendale's gates would provoke death and destruction one way or another and we would oppose directly the terms of Lord Denys."

Tywin was quiet in his chair, still as a statue.

"I propose we lay siege to Duskendale. Let us surround its walls and blockade the city port. This will give Lord Denys time to rethink his decision and terms. We will not attack, thus respecting the ultimatum, but we won't also be doing his bidding. If my strategy doesn't work, then you will have my blessing to storm the gates and take the city."

Somehow, Tywin seemed pleased, and he didn't hide it.

"The matter is settled then, Your Grace."

A smile touched his lips, as he scribbled something down on a bit of parchment. All the other lords raised their voices to praise the prince, comment on how graceful he was, how he would be such a good king one day. Qarlton especially had a lot of kind words.

Rhaella wiped again the tears from her eyes.

Despite all odds, all the babes that had died in her womb or in their cradles, she had one son that would be as great as Jaehaerys I or her grandfather Aegon V. She had no doubts about it.

Yet, taking advantage of the distraction surrounding her son, she stood up from her chair. The voices quickly grew silent again, and the eyes turned to her. The Small Council was ready to take hold of the Realm, just as she was ready to get her household under control again.

"Before I leave, I want to share with you that I will move my son Viserys back to my chambers." The look of outrage in Lord Qarlton's face made her blood boil. "My husband was worried that someone could attempt on the prince's life. Nonetheless the risks, I do believe my son doesn't have to sustain closure and loneliness. He must be kept at his mother's side, especially in these times of turmoil and at such a young age."

"Your Grace, it is not safe." Qarlton intervened, to no surprise. "Have you not understood what we have just discussed? Lord Darklyn's treason proves there are traitors in our midst. We must be careful, and Prince Viserys is the second in line to Iron Throne."

Rhaella was not asking for their approval.

"There are no traitors at my service," Rhaella assured, coldly. "And the prince won't leave Maegor's Holdfast. I only ask to move him to my chambers. Even though I appreciate my husband's care for the prince, I'm the first one telling you the King was overzealous regarding the prince's health." Again, all the names of the children they had both lost came to her mind. "I don't want to put my own son at risk, my lords, but I will do as I please under my roof. This is not a request."

"You are on your own right, Your Grace," Tywin said, nodding toward Ser Gerold. "Arrangements can be made to secure your chamber. I would advise you to still use a taster, to filter any poison… Otherwise, I do believe it would relieve some of the members of the Kingsguard from standing at another door." If Rhaella was not wrong, four members of the Kingsguard were constantly inside Maegor's, to assure her safety, the prince and Aerys'. "They could be put in better use—"

"The king insisted that—" Qarlton commenced.

"The matter is decided, Lord Qarlton." Rhaegar intervened, standing up in Rhaella's defense. "Shall we discuss then the details of the blockade?'

It was the cue for her to leave.

However, she was not done.

"Before that—" She commenced, gathering again the attention of the lords of the Small Council. "I would like to—" Her fingers touched the jewel in her pocket. A small emerald that she had kept in her chambers and Aerys had never found. "I would like to know if Ser Gwayne had any family?"

Ser Gerold Hightower turned his eyes to the queen and reflected for a few seconds.

"His Father died a few years ago, but his eldest sister has inherited the family land and keeps the title of Lady of Threelance Castle."

The Gaunts were nothing more than a minor noble family, with two smaller villages under its governance. Rhaella recalled the story of Lord Gavin Gaunt, who had murdered his wife accidentally and who had later drowned himself in a barrel of ale. A poor noble family is a disgrace, someone had once said.

Her fingers locked around the emerald in her pocket.

She wanted to give it to the Gaunts, for Gwayne's service to the crown and for his life. Yet, when she noticed Tywin's eyes on her pocket, all her courage was gone. An emerald sent to pay a Kingsguard's life? It would start rumors about her dignity.

"Give my condolences to Lady Gaunt, then, Ser Gerold." She said, feeling the tears prickling again in her eyes. "Ser Gwayne was a dutiful guard and his memory shall never be forgotten by the Crown."

Ser Gerold Hightower nodded, as a sad smile touched his lips.

Touching her son's shoulder as a way of farewell, Rhaella took her leave, bidding the lords of the Small Council a good night. As soon as she closed the door behind her, they continued debating all the arrangements of the blockade. Ser Arthur Dayne was waiting for her outside and, silently, escorted her through the corridors of the castle, up to the safety of Maegor's Holdfast.

Feeling the Kinsguard walking behind her, she remembered again Ser Gwayne. The tears shed had been for him, the esteemed friend she had found in her captivity. His life, however, meant something now.

She was a dragon released from her chains.

That was the feeling bursting through her heart now.

Why would she cry for her husband?

Her heart worried for him, and the menace that his imprisonment imposed to the Realm, but nothing else bothered her. This was her moment to act and become again the Queen at the Red Keep. At least, until Aerys returned.  _If he ever returns_ , she thought. If that were to happen, by the time he returned she had to be sure he wouldn't bully her again into a corner. She had to gather her friends, hire her spies and ridden herself of septa Ondira.

And her first battle was already won.

"I'm here to take my son." She said, a few minutes later, as she entered the nursery. The milkmaid was sleeping in a bed by the side of the cradle, and woke up startled, covering her body with the blanket.

Ser Arthur Dayne waited outside with Ser Harlan Grandison, who had been charged with keeping the prince safe.

Viserys was sleeping deeply, with a smile upon his lips and the silver locks of his hair wet with sweat. Who would dare threaten such a precious sweet life? Delicately, she extended her arms to grab the child. He moved slightly in her arms but remained asleep. The queen smiled, closing her eyes, feeling the warmness of her son against her body. Everything would be alright.

When dawn started to break outside the Red Keep, Rhaella was in her bed, with Viserys at her side in a bundle of blankets. Half a dozen nightingales chirped outside her window, heralding what promised to be a warm sunny day. She had not slept. At most, she had drowsed a little. The grim news kept haunting her mind, filling her with images of lost heads and kings under chains. Yes, for a brief moment she might have slept a little since she had the vague memory of Rhaegar being hunted by a dragon that transformed itself into Lord Denys Darklyn. It was surely a bad dream.

Even so, the chirping outside her window was a joyful one and when she opened her eyes to watch the ceiling, she forgot for instants the crisis that had pulled her out of the bed during the middle of the night. Finally, she was preparing to leave it when a servant knocked at her door.

"Your Grace, sorry to disturb you so early, but the Lord Hand is here."

Rhaella frowned, leaving the bed at once.

Had something changed? Could there be more news from Duskendale? Her eyes settled again on her son, sleeping with his fragile hand closed in a fist.

_No, no one can't take him from me again._

"Has he told you why he is here?"

"No, Your Grace. But he insists on giving you a private word." The servant repeated while the shadow of a smile touched her subtle lips. It was the servant with curious eyes. Myrilla, her name was.

 _A private word_.

What private word had the Hand to give her?

Rhaella changed from her nightgown to a morning dress, of a darker lilac that matched her eyes. The milkmaid came into the room while the servant helped her dress, taking the prince to the contiguous room so she could feed him. At last, when the queen was finally ready, she passed to the main chamber.

Lord Tywin had changed again and was wearing a fine suit of clothes. High boots, a long red cloak and leather pants. His hair, Rhaella notice at daylight, was receding. In a few years, he would be bald.

"My lord," Rhaella said, gesturing toward an empty chair. "Could I offer you some refreshment? I was about to eat myself."

"No, Your Grace. Thank you." He said, taking the seat as soon as Rhaella sited herself. "May I ask how you are holding up?"

 _He is not here for small talk_.

"My heart longs for my husband's return." She simply said, accepting the usual glass of red orange juice her servant prepared every morning.  _He can read through me._  "Yet, I do believe the Seven will help us put this terrible nuisance behind us. The least I can do is be brave and help my son in any way I can."

Tywin nodded, but his green cold eyes saw the truth.

"I'm glad to hear it, Your Grace." He continued. "Well, I didn't want to impose and disturb you, but I must give you a private word away from the Small Council's ears."

"How mysterious, my lord."

"Your Grace, I know you for a dutiful wife and mother." Tywin continued, oblivious to the jest in her tone. "That's why I believe you can do something no one else can for the welfare of the crown. A duty often delivered at the Queen's hand."

 _I know what this is about_ , she realized then, even before seeing Tywin's lips opening again.

"If the king is lost, Prince Rhaegar will sit on the Iron Throne." Tywin continued. "The people love your son. They will respect him. Yet, that won't be enough. When the dragon is hurt, the small creatures come to prowl."

_And the lion is the first creature to prowl, it seems._

"A show of unity," Rhaella said, nodding. "I know what you want, my lord."

"Good." He acknowledged. "The Prince has reached the age for marriage. A suitable bride could strength the power behind the crown and at the same time intimidate any lord considering defiance like Denys Darklyn. If we were to find a bride that could bring a strong military power, as well as gold and—"

"Yes, I understand, Lord Tywin," Rhaella said, finishing her juice. "My son is of age to fight, rule and marry. Aerys had been postponing the matter for some time. Lately, he was defending the idea of finding a wife across the Narrow Sea, even though I'm sure he is not an adept of such idea after what happened to him in Duskendale."

"Yes, a westerosi wife would be a better solution, Your Grace." Tywin concurred. "Just as I told the king."

Oh, she knew about it.

Aerys had joked about Tywin's proposal before, how the Hand was trying to marry Rhaegar to his daughter. Young Cersei Lannister. Rhaella had actually seen the girl a few years ago, last time Joanna had stepped into the capital. The twins had to be around four at the time. Many years had passed but, unless she was wrong, Cersei was still a child. A maid of eleven or twelve. A good-looking lady, with blond hair and emerald eyes, that would make a fine queen…

_But she is just so like Joanna._

"My husband told me about your daughter."

Tywin nodded once again.

"The offer is still up for consideration, Your Grace. A marriage with the Rock would put to rest the rumors regarding my relationship with the king. A show of unity as you just said."

"Indeed, my lord," Rhaella said, managing a smile. "Let me consider the matter for a time. I will give you an answer soon enough. I promise."

"As you will, Your Grace," Tywin replied, preparing to stand up again. "But I remind you, time is of the utmost importance."

 _Before Aerys returns, you mean_.

When Tywin left her chamber, she returned to her private room. The prince is there again, in the cradle that had been moved from the nursery. After checking if he was sleeping, Rhaella returned to the window and looked outside. The nightingales were still singing.

"Would you like me to call septa Ondira, Your Grace?" The servant asked.

"No," Rhaella said, firmly. "Tell her to come later so we can pray for my husband."  _And so that I can send her back to the Great Sept, once and for all._  "For now, fetch me so ink, quill, and parchment. I have a raven to send."

Tywin had brought her an important matter indeed. It was time to marry Rhaegar and get him not only a wife but also an ally. Turn the tide in her favor. Accepting the Hand's proposal meant gaining Tywin to her side, and he could surely by a powerful friend dealing with Aerys. But perhaps there were other ways.

Yes, before accepting Cersei Lannister as her daughter-in-law, she had to know first if she could get a yes from another dear friend.


	11. The Defiant Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Defiance of Duskendale doesn’t make sense at several points. Why would a Lord defy the Iron Throne and kidnap a king? Was Denys Darklyn truly bewitched by his myrish wife? And what could he hope to achieve? Well, I try to explore this and find some answers in this chapter. Also, you will see the first significant point of divergence. Review to let me know what you thought.

 

 

 

**THE DEFIANT LORD**

**277 AC**

 

 

 

"Let me mend this for you, Denys."

Serala wrapped her silky arms around his waist. There had always been a soft perfume around her, woven in her dark hair. Spices and milk, nutmeg and lilies, salt and rain. Oranges, like the ones blooming during their first kiss. The warmness of her body was a welcome feeling and usually was enough to melt the worries freezing his heart. Yet, her natural charm was not putting his heart at ease this time. Her body pressed against his, baring her nakedness with no secrets. Only a blanket covered her shoulders, falling to her back. Just as him, she had been awakened by Cillian, who had stormed his room to bring the news.

“If you don’t believe in the words I say, then let me prove it to you.” She insisted, her legs dancing around his own. “There is power in the blood of kings, power enough to turn the tide.”

 _A witch_ , the people called her. Even his own brothers and sister whispered those lies on his back. _The Lace Serpent._  

“No.” He replied, firmly, feeling the vein throbbing in his forehead. His eyes were fixed on what was happening outside. “It won’t be necessary.”

Serala hard-pressed again her body, and this time he felt on his leg the warm wetness coming from between her thighs.

“You are surrounded by your enemies.”

“The very same enemies you promised wouldn’t come.” He retorted, pulling away from her embrace. “I’m done with your whispers, woman. It’s time I deal with Lord Tywin myself.”

Was it, though? He was starting to have some doubts about it himself, as the circle started to tighten around him. The dream was turning itself into a nightmare with the promise of a grim end. Yet, Serala had studied her flames, and her damned God had revealed a path to Duskendale’s greatness.

The moment he had captured King Aerys had been a daring one.

Two weeks had passed since then, and many things had come to pass. His Grace was rotting in a cell, beside the fourteen soldiers who had survived and been put to chains. The idea of imprisoning him was not on his plans at first. He had truly hoped to achieve a deal peacefully, persuading the old foolish king to accept his terms and put the matter to rest. But Serala had suggested, in just a simple whisper, that he should have a second plan up his sleeve.

“We were married so we could lead Duskendale back to its glory, husband.” She had said to him, times and times again, always weaving her words so carefully and with so a raw sweetness. “Heed my words or doomed Duskendale will be.”

Yes, the threat had been always there, a shadow of darker days she had once glimpsed in a spiral of ashes. So, heed her words, gathering his brothers, cousins, and household to inform them of what could happen and get them prepared. They had only to wait for his signal to attack if it came to that. He was sure Aerys would do his bid, being so far away from Lord Tywin – the one truly ruling the Realm.

But how wrong was he… and how right had been Serala.

When the King refused to give what was of House Darklyn by right – Aerys had even ripped apart the written promise signed by Visenya Targaryen – he gave the signal.

It was the perfect way to negotiate with Tywin, he realized during the feast held that night. With his family and closest advisors, he drafted the terms and sent the king’s squire to the Lord Hand. He was sure the Iron Throne wouldn’t move a finger against him, not if it meant putting the life of Aerys Targaryen in risk. Tywin could be known for his brutal justice, but the Tarbecks and Castameres had no king in their hands when the Lion had come for them, had they?

Serala was always there for him, assuring her way was the right one. His family had doubts, but they were inebriated by the sense of power. It was easy to get lost in such a refined taste. His brother-in-law, Jon Hollard, had even suggested that he should proclaim himself king again, as his ancestors had done before the Targaryens.

Yet, Tywin Lannister had proved him wrong.

The Lord Hand had rallied the Crownlands – all those Houses certainly hoping to get their hands on Duskendale – and had marched to its gates. They had arrived during the night, sounding their horns and waking the sleepers with hooves of their horses through the dark. Only now that dawn had broken had his officials counted how many men were surrounding Duskendale. Around three-thousand, according to the last tally. Twelve ships, hoisting the Targaryen flag, were also docked by the port's entry.

_A siege… or an invasion._

Serala’s arms grabbed him again, and her lips hunted for another kiss.

“The red priestess taught me a trick or two.” She insisted, managing to kiss his neck. There was nothing like the softness of her lips. “We have the king. If we use his—”

"Shut up, woman," Denys said, again getting rid of her embrace. "I won't hear this nonsense any longer."

“The visions in the flames are quite clear, Denys. You have no need to—”

“Enough of your God, woman.” He said, pointing a finger outside the window. “Look what he brought us.”

         From his window, he could glimpse quite a few sigils. The Lion of the Rock, flapping in red. The golden goose of old Lord Cargyll. The mace and dagger of House Chelsted. The three red chevronels on ermine of Rosby. And even the lamb holding a golden goblet of House Stokeworth. And, of course, the three-headed dragon rising above them all.

 “You can’t doubt the Lord of Light whenever the tide turns against you.” She said, rolling her eyes. Her body gave up trying to conquer him, and she returned to the bed. “I want to restore Duskendale to its greatness, just as much as you, husband. If we are here, my sweet fool, is not because I whispered spells in your ear as those foolish badmouths say. I read the flames and I told you what they showed me.”

_Witch._

House Darklyn had kept the Faith of the Seven for hundreds of years. He still prayed to the Seven, despite Serala insisting they were false idols and that the wooden figures on the septs should be burnt down. Yet, he had never been courageous enough to heed such a counsel. Duskendale depended greatly on the Faith and the people would easily turn against him if he were to rape their septs with the word of a foreign God. Yet, there was an appeal in what her Lord of Light promised. Something charming, for sure.

“If I’m a fool, what does that make of you, woman?” He said, grabbing his leather pants, lost in the chamber’s floor. “Go pray to your bloody demon God if you want. Leave me be. I have to deal with this mess on my own.”

 “No.” Serala insisted, her body lost among the white sheets. “I won’t be treated like a whore by my own husband. If you don’t want to stare at me, or hear me out, you must be the one getting out.”

For moments, Denys stopped on his heels, naked from his chest down, holding his pants. A fool, she had called him, and what a fool he must be. His city was being sieged. The horns kept calling. A king was locked in his cells. And his bloody wife was whispering again dangerous ideas into his ear. He had never beat the woman. The day he had taken her for a wife, he had vowed never to strike her. But an urge was now boiling in his veins.

“If the Lannister invades my city, I will kill you myself, woman.”

Serala shook her head, her dark hair dancing softly around her.

“If the Lannister invades _our_ city, you won’t have time to get your hands on me, husband.”

Denys laughed, but the tears were prickling his eyes.

“Then perhaps I should kill you right now.”

“Do it, then.” She said, extending an arm to the table by the bed. She grabbed the knife they had used just hours ago to peel an apple. Graciously, she slid between the blankets again and approached him, her chest completely bare. “Here.” She said, giving him the handle of the knife. There were stills bits of apple juice on it. “Kill me, Denys. Be the fucking lord of Duskendale and kill the Lace Serpent. Your people will cheer you.”

Denys grabbed the handle and pressed the blade to her chest.

A thread of blood trickled down her skin, between her pointed breasts. Her eyes, blue as the evening sky, were locked on his own.

 _I want to fuck you_ , he thought. _Just as much as I want to carve your heart out._

Once, Father had taken him to Myr, when he was just a boy of sixteen. Nine years before, but it seemed an eternity ago. Lord Arteyn Darklyn believed Duskendale could benefit from an exclusive deal made with a merchant across the Narrow Sea, a deal closed by marriage, that would bring gold directly through their port. So, after a few balls in illustrious myrish palaces, his Father had finally managed to close a marriage deal with Tycho Unesh, a merchant who had a handful of daughters to spare and a considerable amount of silk to sell.

 _I want to feel the pleasure of being inside the most beautiful woman of this world,_ Denys had said to himself the moment he had set eyes on Serala. They had danced, and danced again, and danced thrice and by the end of the night shared a few kisses under an orange tree. The sweet perfume of those ripe fruits still made his stomach crave the sweetest juices of the world.

They married on a Sept back in Myr – Serala confessed only later that she prayed secretly to the Red God – and sailed to Duskendale as husband and wife. _How innocent were we_ , Denys reminisced, watching the line of blood reach her belly button. _Or perhaps it was just me, and she played me like a fool._

         “Kill me, Denys.” She insisted, placing her soft hand on his cheek. “You just have to press _harder_.”

 _Poison_ , he thought, feeling his hand tremble. The people believed he was being poisoned by some sort of venom, but the true poison was the raw love and obsession he had for this woman. The hilt of the knife slipped through his fingers and the clatter of steel filled the room. _Yes, I am a fool._

 "Do as you please." He said, gulping. His eyes couldn't stare a second longer to the blood dancing down her body. Getting inside his pants, the Lord of Duskendale walked toward the door of the chamber and got out. He didn't look back but was sure she was there, on the bed, enveloped in a white sheet, praying for his return.

As soon as he reached the corridor, he bent and threw up everything inside his stomach. A guard standing down the corridor came to his aid immediately.

“My lord? Do you need some help?” He asked, extending an arm.

“Leave me be.” He yelled, pushing the man. “Fucking Hells.” He said, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand. When he raised his eyes to face the soldier, he didn’t recognize him. The lad had blond hair, so clear it seemed almost silver. It was a rare sight, curious indeed, but considering the pool of his own vomit, he shook his head and resumed his way down the corridor. The guard simply retraced his steps to return to his position.

A shadow had fallen over Dun Fort.

The screams of the men in the cells had been shut by tiredness, and the music and laughter of triumph were also gone, carried by a misty wind. All that remained now the grim silence, perforated by the sound of the horns of the lords outside the gates.

As he descended the main staircase, he noticed a few servants perched on a windowsill, whispering something among themselves.

“Get to your work.” Denys bellowed, startling the three of them. With a whimper, one of the wenches immediately ran off at once, as the other two followed more composedly.

 _They are afraid they will be put to the sword_.

That thought made him lose himself even more in the despair taking hold of his heart. As the door of the Great Hall came visible down the corridor, he hesitated. If only he could return to his chamber, disappear beneath the white soft sheets, caressing Serala’s body against his. Even so, he couldn’t. The thread of blood down her chest reminded him why he had fled from the chamber. No, he couldn’t get back. He had to deal with this, face his men and act like a Lord was supposed to act. Repeating this false truth to himself, he pushed the door and entered the room.

Even the room seemed colder than usual.

Beer, wine, and ale had been spilled on the stone floor since the fight, but he could still see the pools of blood left in the wake of Aerys' imprisonment and smell the burnt flesh of the dead bodies being burnt on the courtyard. Daylight came from the high windows, even though the sky was grey again, promising rain in a few hours.

 “Any word from Tywin Lannister?” He asked, approaching the end of the long table where his closest advisors gathered.

His siblings, Cillian and Cedric, were already drinking from a jar of wine, but not Rahenna. The twins had the skill for swords he had never inherited from Father and his sister had the grace of a dancer, maintaining a polished attentive mind. Symond Hollard, his master-at-arms, was also there with a map of the city walls before his long and robust arms. He was chewing sour leaf, making an irritating noise with his lips. And, of course, old Maester Vyrgus was also in attendance, with a pale look on his face and his trembling hands touching the links of the chain around his neck, as if constantly counting them.

It was a grim party by the looks of it.

"Yes, he has spoken his mind, brother," Cillian responded, watching his brother as he approached. He was the eldest of the twins, and also the boldest. _But still younger than me_. His constant need of proving his valor was the reason why he had offered himself to meet Tywin Lannister at the city's gates.

"And?" Denys asked, ignoring the way the others looked at him. He could sense their fear and judgment.

“Are you well, brother?” Cillian asked, instead of replying to his question. “It seems you will collapse any moment. Perhaps Maester Vyrgus can concoct some kind of medicine?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” He pushed, waving with his hand as if to repel an insect. But the weight of those eyes on him made him realize what they were seeing. His pants stained with vomit, the reek of bile surrounding him, his skin white as marble and the cold sweat gathering in his forehead, wetting his hair. The Frail Lord of Duskendale, they must be thinking.

“The only medicine I need for now is right here.” He grabbed a goblet – it belonged to the Maester, but he didn’t care – and drunk the wine left in it. “Is Lord Tywin here to concede to our terms, then?” He was sarcastic, but no one else laughed with him.

It seemed they didn’t want to cooperate either.

"Get hold of yourself, brother." Rahenna was the one brave enough to pull the goblet from his hand. "Bring my brother some water with lemon." She ordered a servant by the window, who quickly obliged. "Father would be ashamed of you if he could just see you, Denys. At the first sight of armored men at our gates, this _is_ how you react? Drinking wine and hiding between your wife’s legs won’t get us anywhere.”

"Don't talk to me about Father." Denys retorted, angrily. The cold fear of not doing justice to what Father had requested of him turned his insides to water. And that bitch was always quickly reminding him that.

“He was my Father too.” Rahenna insisted irately, her eyes reduced to slits. “He left his dream in _our_ hands, not only yours. But you are the one we have to call Lord, so you _will_ compose yourself or I swear you will end up in a cell so that the remnant of House Darklyn can decide for you."

_You would like that, wouldn’t you? And your husband too._

Jon Hollard was a stupid imbecile with shit in his head instead of brains, but she was not. Yet, that did not mean she deserved a place in the table. He was about to say something of the sort when Cillian placed a hand on his forearm.

"Lord Tywin won't accept your terms, brother." He said, almost in a whisper. "He demands that you deliver the king and yourself, as well as a considerable number of hostages of House Darklyn so that Duskendale can pay for the treason acts committed against the Iron Throne."

Denys laughed, but the taste of cinders and bile filled his mouth.

“And what will happen if I refuse?”

“He will lay siege to Duskendale until we change our mind. The port is blocked, the three gates of the city are surrounded and—”

“A siege it is then.” He said, glancing around the table once again. “We knew this could happen, after all.”

Yes, they knew it could happen, but they didn’t _expect_ it to. Not after sending his terms to Tywin Lannister, promising to hurt the king if he even dared march to the city. To kill him if the walls were breached. Or even to give Aerys all the comfort befitting his title if Duskendale’s charter was at last recognized.

“How many swords are positioned outside the walls?” Denys asked. The servant returned, bringing a glass of water with lemon. “Three-thousand, right?”

"According to the latest tally, yes." It was Cedric the one replying now. He was less bold than Cillian, but in a duel or on the palisades of a tourney he could be fiercer than his counterpart. "But more men were seen just an hour ago. The Red Salmon of House Mooton."

The Mootons were from Maidenpool and sworn to the Riverlands. That meant Tywin had sent summons not only to the Houses of the Crownlands but to the entire Seven Kingdoms. More men would come to join the siege, to defy the defiant lord and bring Duskendale to his knees if possible. Once again, his hope was clouded by darker thoughts. It was becoming harder and harder seeing the bonanza after the storm.

"That means, then, that if we want to consider an attack of our own, we must do it before more Lords come to our gates to show the length of their cocks," Denys said, sipping a gulp of lemon water. It was an acid taste, but it helped slightly.

“My lord, you can’t be considering an attack—” Symond intervened, reading his mind. “We may have the city, but we don’t have the men.”

"How many could he gather?"

Symond exchanged a glance with Cedric before replying.

“Seven hundred. Eight, at the most.”

Not enough men, but perhaps they could plan a surprise attack—

"We don't have the men neither the proper weapons to attack them from our walls." Resumed Cillian, with a grievous expression. "A siege, for the time being, would be the right move to make. The natural move. Yet, if we don’t accept Lord Tywin’s term or he doesn’t accept ours, I firmly believe he will attack us eventually.”

 _And the city will break like skin pierced by a fruit knife_.

“No.” Denys shook his head. “No, he won’t attack. He can gather the bloody Others outside our gates, but Tywin Lannister will never attack while the king’s life is on the balance. He will lay siege to Duskendale, no doubt about it, but we can sustain it for quite a few months. How are we in what regards food provisions, Maester?”

 Maester Vyrgus looked at him with his teary eyes.

         “We have enough to sustain half a year of siege, my lord of Darklyn.” Before the king’s arrival, he had replenished his warehouses with enough food to the eventuality of things going amiss. “If we ration the food, we can go as far as eight months.”

 "Eight months." Denys acknowledged, nodding. He already knew it, he just wanted all of them to hear it. "It's enough time to force the Lannister Lord to come around—"

         “Nonetheless, eight months with the gates closed and the port blocked will damage greatly our economy, my lord.”

         “That’s the smallest of our problems now, good maester. We will recover from it.” He insisted, finishing his water. “Let us do, then, what we can.”

         “And what is that, brother?” Asked Cedric.

         “Wait, brother. We must wait. It is the only thing we can do.”

         _And eat until our supplies are at an end, and deal with the mobs that will soon start and pray to the Seven for this to end in our favor._ What a grim path was the one that led toward greatness. Was this the reason why Father had never made the move on his own? It had certainly been easy for him to delegate such a task to his children before departing from the realm of the living.

         “Denys, I don’t want to be the one saying this, but perhaps we should put an end to this folly while the terms are still gentle as they are—” Cedric said, down the table. “If we give the king back, perhaps we could still negotiate the charter with all the other hostages we have in our grasp.”

         “I’m glad you fight with your sword and not with your wit, brother.” Rahenna intervened yet again. “We either win the charter and our independence, or we lose our heads and our house. It’s quite clear, is it not? There is no turning back. We must face this siege, just as Denys said, and hope that Lord Tywin concedes to our request.”

         “Even so, there could _be_ a way," Cillian said, his eyes resting on Denys yet again. "You could deliver yourself, brother, and—"

         Serala had alerted him about his.

_My traitorous sibling._

 "Deliver himself?" Rahenna asked, outraged. The maester moved uncomfortably, but Symon didn't blink. His mouth continued to chew his bloody sour leaf. "Deliver himself to death, it's what you are saying. Lord Tywin will drag Denys to King's Landing only to execute him before the entire Realm. Should our brother die for the crimes we committed as a _united_ House? I don’t believe so, and I won’t permit it.”

         “I thank you, dear sister.” Denys finally answered, before turning to Cillian. “I’m glad you brought this up, brother. We must consider all suggestions indeed. The glory of Duskendale is the fate of House Darklyn, as our Father so many times preached. Yet, what would we achieve by doing what you suggest? I would be killed, Duskendale would be raped by the men gathering at our doors and… oh, yes, you would become Lord of Duskendale.”

         Cillian grew pale, shaking his head.

         “I’m only considering options, brother. I do beg your forgiveness if I—”

 "We are all on the same ship," Denys said, as the servant placed the goblet with water and lemon before him. "Our ancestors bent our knee to the Targaryens when they had dragons, so they wouldn't raze our city to the ground. But the true dragons are no more, and Father pressed us to fight for what is ours. And as I remember, the day I shared with you my idea of entrapping this feeble dragon in our dungeons, all of you vowed to serve me, no matter the risks."

         “Forget then my words, brother. I don’t want to cause distress in any—”

         “I know, brother. _I know_." Denys said, calming him down. "You served me good, as well as our House. I'm sure we will sail to the end of this storm together and united as a House, just like we began."

         Cillian nodded, bowing his head.

         _He believes I’m sick and mad and feeble._

 "Let us wait, then," Denys said, ending the meeting there. "I will retire to my chambers if you will. I'm feeling a little bit sick now, to be honest."

 Maester Vyrgus promptly gave him a small flask with dreamwine, so he could sleep restlessly. Denys accepted it gladly since it was just the thing he needed. A good and long sleep would do good to his strength. The twins left the chamber with Symond Hollard, saying something about checking the guard of the city, to make sure chaos wouldn't break among the people. Only Rahenna stayed behind, still on her seat.

         “We will come through this, Denys.” She said, but he could she the blatant fear underneath that mask of decorum. “Time is our ally. We just have to wait until the Greedy Lion gets tired and returns to the capital to crown his prince. Tywin Lannister will never lay siege for more than half a year, and I truly believe what you say, he will never risk the king’s life.”

         Denys nodded, shrugging.

         “Please, don’t look so miserable.” She urged again, impatient. “You are the pillar of this family. The people love you and cheer you since you were a boy. All of us want this, but our heart will fail when your own stops. Remember that.”

 "I'm afraid I can't sustain this until the end, sister." He said, looking toward the hall's door. "You heard our gentle brothers. They will seize me and deliver me to Tywin Lannister in due time if the siege prolongs."

 "They said nothing of the sorts, Denys. And if they did something so stupid like that, they would have to pass through me first." She said, extending a hand to grab his. "Please, don't get lost in dreams and slumber, brother."

         _Don’t get lost in the whispers of the Lace Serpent_ , she meant to say. She was jealous of his wife, the myrish daughter who had usurped her place as Lady of Duskendale. At least, that was what sweet Serala kept telling him, whenever she crossed her paths with his sister.

         “I won’t, Rahenna.”

         She smiled, and how much alike she was to their Mother.

         “Then, get a good rest, brother. I will see you for dinner, and everything will seem better by then. I’m sure of it.”

         And so he returned to his chamber slowly, dragging his body along the corridors and staircases of Dun Fort. By reaching the door of the room, he saw that the pool of vomit was still there, and reeking. Flies had gathered in a council of their own, laying a siege to the sickly decay. Placing a hand on the door’s handle, he closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to be strong, yes, he needed to bear that burden Father had thrown to his arms, but he was failing.

 At last, he entered. Serala was standing by the window sill. She was dressed, wearing one of her old dresses of blue satin. Her dark hair was braided, with lace locking it at the end. Her eyes contemplated the host gathering outside Duskendale.

         “Three ships with a stag on a golden field just joined the others on the port, husband.” She said, climbing down the windowsill. “Your enemies keep coming, and you know what that means, don’t you?”

         A fire was burning on the fireplace, even though it was not cold enough for it. She had been reading the flames, he realized without asking. Removing his boots, he sat on the bed.

         “Let them come.” He replied, getting rid of the second boot. “They can’t do anything, can they?”

         Serala crossed her arms, watching him pull the flask from his pocket.

         “Dreamwine.” She commented, amused. “Is that your plan, husband? You will sleep while your enemies besiege Duskendale? What a glorious plan you and your advisors have concocted.”

         “Shut up, you damned woman, or I swear I will strike you down.” And just after that, he took the flask to his lips and drank. As soon as he corked the little flask again, he raised his eyes to look at his wife. “Do you remember what I told Tywin Lannister? The terms I wrote?”

         Serala rolled her eyes, as if bored, and sat at his side on the bed.

         “You said a few things and many more.” _How beautiful she is_ , he said to himself, watching her lips from up close. “But words are wind and won’t get you farther, sweet husband.”

         “I’m a weak man.” Denys retorted, placing a hand on her knee. “It’s what they see in me. Tywin Lannister, the bloody court, my siblings and even you. The people love me, but I’m not strong like my brothers or bold like my sister.” His nails dug her skin again on the knee, and he saw her expression transform. Pain and surprise.

         “Your grasp is strong, though.” She teased, still amused with whatever game he was playing. “The blood you draw was not enough?”

         “No.” He confirmed, smiling. The dreamwine was working, he could feel the slumber taking hold of his body. “I told Tywin Lannister that if he marched against us… The king would suffer.”

         The doubt in Serala’s eyes dissipated.

         “Are you saying that—?”

“Yes, woman. Do what you must.” He said, his eyes darting to the bloodied knife still on the floor. “My gods have failed me lately, but perhaps yours will give us some advantage in this long hard path we have before us.”

 _Let us prove I’m not the Frail Lord_. _Let the world know I’m the Defiant Lord of Duskendale._ Serala looked at him, and nodded, with a serious expression, understanding the words left unsaid.

         “I will not fail you, husband.” She whispered. “A small token, just to prove their power and that that lives on the blood of kings. This will change the tide.” She inclined forward, opening her mouth, to embrace him in a long kiss.

His body fell on the mattress with a thud. The soft silken sheets enveloped him. And her body – with kisses that were hungry, untiring, sweet – covered his. He fell into a well of sleep and was dragged to a long dream he never wanted to leave.

         In his dream, he was still kissing Serala, until he was not. Her body was lost, and he couldn’t remember how, but he believed it had been devoured by the flames of her Red God. There were flames, yes, but it was not Serala burning on the stake. It was a dragon. _A dragon is burning_ , he laughed, as his family danced and sang around the flaming pyre. _But the fire doesn’t kill the dragon._ Yet, his family kept dancing and dancing, oblivious to the fact that the Dun Fort was also in flames and their city reduced to cinders. Another dragon, much more powerful than the one burning on the stake, was flying over them, as the sun shone his blessing and the lion roared. And then Denys burned with the others, and Duskendale had never been so glorious, especially now that it was in flames.

         “Denys, you are dreaming, my sweet.”

         He woke and, as he knew, everything had been a dream. Not the siege surrounding his city, or the king locked in a cell, but the part of dragons burning at the stake or flying over the city. _I knew I was dreaming_. Nonetheless, his forehead again seeped in cold sweat and the sleep had been not a restless one, as the maester had promised. However, he had dreamt for long. Twilight was already settling outside his window and his stomach roared with hunger. Horns were still echoing through the city, or so he heard.

         “So?” He asked, slightly drunk.

         Only then did he realize that the last he had seen of his wife he had given her blessing to go forward with her plan. Serala had returned from whatever her quest was. Her braid was unmade, and she seemed also weary and pale, with her eyes not so focused as usual. Instead of answering, she placed the fruit knife on top of the table.

It was clean, not a drop of blood.

         “Serala, did you do it?”

         “Almost.” She whispered, and only then did he realized how her voice trembled. Could she be cold? _Perhaps she is,_ Denys realized, as Serala knelt by the fireplace. “Come, husband. Join me by the fire.”

 A servant must have entered the room while he was sleeping because logs had been thrown to the fireplace recently and a slow fire was burning. With the help of an iron spike, Serala moved the braziers, making the flames rise even higher.

 "Not your visions again, I hope," Denys said, yawning, as he approached her. "I tried to read your flames once, woman. But I just can't see it."

         “No, that’s not it.” She said, revealing a small wooden box she was clasping in her hand. It was the very same box where they had kept the laces of their wedding vows. A seven-pointed was carved on the lid. “It’s time to offer something to the Lord of Light.”

         _The blood of kings has power._

A box was an odd choice to keep blood, presuming she had gone to the king's cell to collect it. He thought she would bring a flask of his royal blood or even a chalice. But a box, especially a box with the seven-pointed star, was not what he would have used. Nevertheless, he had no courage to ask. He allowed her to lead this ritual of hers, just as he had promised.

 "The Red God will hear us and accept our offer." She continued, her long fingers taking hold of the lid. Her face moved to the fire, and for a few seconds, Denys watched the flames dancing in her eyes. _The witch I love_. “Lord of Light, accept our offer and bring down our enemies to be judged by your fiery mercy.”

 Denys sniffed when she opened the box at last. He couldn't immediately see what was inside the box, but his lips were locked, incapable of formulating the question. He was afraid. No, he was terrorized, especially from the moment he understood his Serala – his daring wife, always ready to say the right thing – was also scared.

And then she lowered her hands, revealing the contents of the box.

_May the Seven help us._

         A set of purple eyes, fresh with blood around the edges, stared back at him. Something twisted immediately inside his stomach, and once again the vomit came up his throat and he turned his head just in time to retch upon the stone floor of his chambers.

         _She took the king’s eyes_.

         “R’hllor, Lord of Light, light our path.” Serala chanted, as her voice trembled with fear and disgust. _A witch she is, but she doesn’t know what she is doing, what she has done._ “Lord of Light, hear our plea. Bring us the golden future that was promised to us.” She continued intoning. Denys wiped his mouth, turning his eyes to her. Serala was crying in terror. Had she ever done this or was her first time? Up until that moment, her Faith had been summoned up to tricks of fire and visions in flames.

_Not carving out man’s eyes._

 Then, she threw the box to the flames, and the eyes were engulfed by the devouring fire. A hiss, a darker fetid smoke, and the eyes melted. One of them even exploded, casting a slimy liquid into the floor. And then, when he could no longer see the purple eyes, Denys finally summoned up the courage to face Serala. She was there, her eyes lost in the flames, were body swinging back and forth, as if she had lost her mind.

         “What have we done, woman?”

         She gulped and turned his head to him.

         “Oh, husband. The Lord of Light will bless us.” She said, her lower lip quivering. “I know he will.”

         When she started crying again, she threw herself into her husband’s chest and he fondled her against him, caressing her dark hair.

         “Don’t fear, my dear.” He said, also ceding to crying, as he kissed the top of her head. “Everything will be alright.”

 


End file.
